I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.

Within the book and volume of thy brain.

When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.

Tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons.

Oh, I have passed a miserable night, so full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams!

Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.