“Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.”

“The night is long that never finds the day.”

“My liege, and madam, to expostulateWhat majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time,Were nothing but to waste night, day and time.Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,I will be brief.”

“And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.”

“Come what come may, time and the hour run through the roughest day.”

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.”

“The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,And flecked darkness like a drunkard reelsFrom forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels:Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,I must up-fill this osier cage of oursWith baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb;What is her burying grave that is her womb,And from her womb children of divers kindWe sucking on her natural bosom find,Many for many virtues excellent,None but for some and yet all different.O, mickle is the powerful grace that liesIn herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:For nought so vile that on the earth doth liveBut to the earth some special good doth give,Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair useRevolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;And vice sometimes by action dignified.Within the infant rind of this small flowerPoison hath residence and medicine power:For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.Two such opposed kings encamp them stillIn man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;And where the worser is predominant,Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.”