If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me.
Oh, God! I have an ill-divining soul!
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them.
Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.