Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face: O! let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack

No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Shine out fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass.

Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.

O heaven! were man, But constant, he were perfect.

Ready to go but never to return.