Good things should be praised.

Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well.

Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these.

By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor never none Shall mistress be of it save I alone.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.

This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.