Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
‘Tis too much proved—that with devotion’s visage And pious action we do sugar o’er The devil himself.
What then? what rests? Try what repentance can: what can it not? Yet what can it when one can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged!
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form, and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel! !n apprehension, how like a god!
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, So lust, though to a radiant angel link’d, Will sate itself in a celestial bed, And prey on garbage.
This above all; to thine own self be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.