The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.

Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.

How every fool can play upon the word!

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty!

Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.

Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.

What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye