The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.
The hideous god of war.
What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
April ... hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
All things are ready, if our mind be so.