A slice from Shakespeare’s ‘Loves Labour Lost’ below. Often I find it is the speeches that stand above the parapets in his plays, and, once freed from the rest of the text, and set upon a pedestal, they are a work of art all on their own.  

A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in.
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this:
If for my love, as there is no such cause,
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about the annual reckoning.
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine
I will be thine; and till that instant shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation
For the remembrance of my father’s death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part,
Neither entitled in the other’s heart.

I am adding to this post a piece from The President and Founder’s stockpile of which I was reminded when the comments were flying freely and with some joy. It is a favourite of mine and should you click-through to the original my comments there explain why. Rather than re-blog it, (which would involve another post), I am inserting the body of said piece below. The original post can be found by clicking upon the title.