I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth.
And indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory.
It's a most excellent canopy, the air.
Look you, this brave, o'er hanging firmament.
This majestical roof fretted with golden fire.
Why, it appeareth nothing to me
but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties,
how like an angel in apprehension.
HOW like a GOD! The beauty of the world; Paragon of animals.
Yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
Man delights not me.
No, nor women neither……Nor women neither.
