Some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time.
But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.
Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god.
Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
My stars shine darkly over me
Be just, and fear not.