The small amount of foolery wise men have makes a great show.
I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.
Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.
Now I am past all comforts here, but prayer.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.