I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.
There is a tide in the affairs of men
And ruin`d love when it is built anew, grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater
England is safe, if true within itself.
Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.
O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, 1710. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?