O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause transform ourselves into beasts!
Of comfort no man speak. Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs, Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors and talk of wills.
I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature.
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit; All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.
This making of Christians will raise the price of hogs. If we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money.
Grim-visaged War hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
Now he weighs time Even to the utmost grain.
The sky it seems would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out.
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile.
Life itself, my wife, and all the world, Are not with me esteemed above thy life. I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all Here to this devil, to deliver you.