My Nature Is Subdued To What It

Wise Men Never Sit And Wail Their Loss, But Cheerily Seek How To Redress Their Harms.

To Sleep Perchance To Dream

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.

O My Good Lord, That Comfort Comes Too Late, 'tis Like A Pardon After Execution. That Gentle Physic, Given In Time, Had Cured Me; But Now I Am Past All Comforts Here But Prayers.

The Whirligig Of Time Brings In His Revenges.