Through the forest have I gone. But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring love. Night and silence.--Who is here? Weeds of Athens he doth wear: This is he, my master said, Despised the Athenian maid; And here the maiden, sleeping sound, On the dank and dirty ground. Pretty soul! she durst not lie Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. Churl, upon thy eyes I throw All the power this charm doth owe. When thou wakest, let love forbid Sleep his seat on thy eyelid: So awake when I am gone; For I must now to Oberon.

When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.

The devil knew what he did when he made men politic; he crossed himself by it.

The means that heaven yields must be embraced, and not neglected; else, if heaven would, and we will not heaven's offer, we refuse the proffered means of succor and redress.

He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.