Nor age so eat up my invention.

This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

For now they kill me with a living death.

Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

To sleep perchance to dream

Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.

Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country, as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court.