The time is out of joint.

O horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee!

Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.

O Death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.

To pore upon a book, to seek the light of truth.

And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods makes Heaven drowsy with the harmony.