All Days Are Nights To See Till

They Do Not Love That Do Not Show Their Love.

Not From The Stars Do I My Judgement Pluck, And Yet Methinks I Have Astronomy. But Not To Tell Of Good Or Evil Luck, Of Plagues, Of Dearths, Or Season's Quality; Nor Can I Fortune To Brief Minutes Tell ... Or Say With Princes If It Shall Go Well.

O Polished Perturbation! Golden Care! That Keep'st The Ports Of Slumber Open Wide To Many A Watchful Night.

We Go To Gain A Little Patch Of Ground That Hath In It No Profit But The Name.

Farewell! A Long Farewell To All My Greatness!