When The Age Is In, The Wit

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself, Nor Is Not Moved With Concord Of Sweet Sounds, Is Fit For Treasons, Stratagems And Spoils.

To Be In Love- Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans, Coy Looks With Heart-sore Sighs, One Fading Moment's Mirth With Twenty Watchful, Weary, Tedious Nights; If Haply Won, Perhaps A Hapless Gain; If Lost, Why Then A Grievous Labour Won; However, But A Folly Bought With Wit, Or Else A Wit By Folly Vanquished.

And Ruin`d Love When It Is Built Anew, Grows Fairer Than At First, More Strong, Far Greater

What's Hecuba To Him, Or He To Hecuba, That He Should Weep For Her?

O God, O God, How Weary, Stale, Flat, And Unprofitable Seem To Me All The Uses Of This World!