“Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;Which in a set hand fairly is engross'dThat it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's.And mark how well the sequel hangs together:Eleven hours I have spent to write it over,For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;The precedent was full as long a-doing;And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd,Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty.Here's a good world the while! Who is so grosThat cannot see this palpable device?Yet who's so bold but says he sees it not?Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.”

“And then he drew a dial from his poke,And looking with lack-lustre eye,Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:Thus we may see', Quoth he, 'how the world wags:'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.”

“I have touched the highest point of all my greatness;And from that full meridian of my gloryI haste now to my setting: I shall fallLike a bright exhalation in the evening,And no man see me more.”

“And since you know you cannot see yourself,so well as by reflection, I, your glass,will modestly discover to yourself,that of yourself which you yet know not of.”

“Too much of water hast thou poor Ophelia, and therefore I forbid my tears.But yet it is our trick, let shame say what it will. when these are gone the women will be out!Adieu my lord, I have a speech of fire that fane would blaze, But that this folly doubts it.”

“For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.”

“There's some ill planet reigns:I must be patient till the heavens lookWith an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,I am not prone to weeping, as our sexCommonly are; the want of which vain dewPerchance shall dry your pities: but I haveThat honourable grief lodged here which burnsWorse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,With thoughts so qualified as your charitiesShall best instruct you, measure me; and soThe king's will be perform'd!”