What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.

In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?

Perseverance, my dear Lord. Keeps honour bright.

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Liberty plucks justice by the nose; The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum.

I feel within me a peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience.

The fear's as bad as falling.