Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit Is 'plain and true'; there's all the reach of it.

'Tis not the many oaths that make the truth, But the plain single view that is vow'd true.

A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's.

If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee.

I am a man More sinn'd against than sinning.

The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance.

O let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presages of my speaking breast.

Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from other's books.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.

Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Slander lives upon succession, For ever housed where it gets possession.

I am disgrace'd, impeach'd, and baffled here, Pierce'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear.

My grief lies all within; And these external manners of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swell with silence in the tortur'd soul.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them.

The sands are number'd that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

But be contented when that fell arrest Without all bail shall carry me away: My life hath in this line some interest Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.

I have lived long enough: my way of lfe Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf, And that which should accompany old age, As, honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but in their stead, Curses.

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more.

The earth can yield me but a common grave.