In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it; that surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die.