But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.
I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?
I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none
My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.