Pleasure And Action Make The Hours Seem

It Is The Very Error Of The Moon; She Comes More Nearer Earth Than She Was Wont, And Makes Men Mad.

Would I Were Dead, If God's Good Will Were So, For What Is In This World But Grief And Woe?

Men Are April When They Woo, December When They Wed. Maids Are May When They Are Maids, But The Sky Changes When They Are Wives.

Men Should Be What They Seem.

If There Were A Sympathy In Choice, War, Death, Or Sickness, Did Lay Siege To It, Making It Momentary As A Sound, Swift As A Shadow, Short As Any Dream, Brief As The Lightning In The Collied Night That, In A Spleen, Unfolds Both Heaven And Earth, And Ere A Man Hath Power To Say 'behold!' The Jaws Of Darkness Do Devour It Up; So Quick Bright Things Come To Confusion.