You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
We must love men, ere to us they will seem worthy of our love.
Let them obey that knows not how to rule.
We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good; so find we profit By losing of our prayers.
Avaunt, you cullions!
And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.