What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts.
Come give us a taste of your quality.
To pore upon a book, to seek the light of truth.
What must be shall be.
And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?