Our jovial star reigned at his birth.

There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.

But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.

Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!

My heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand.

O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do.

For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.