I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your
secrecy to the King and queene: moult no feather. I have of late, (but
wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and
indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition; that this goodly frame the
earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy the air,
look you, this brave o'er hanging firmament, this majestical roof, fretted
with golden fire: why, it appeareth no other thing to me, than a foul and
pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is man, How noble in
reason, how infinite in faculty, In form and moving how express and admirable,
In action how like an Angel, In apprehension how like a god, The beauty of the
world, The paragon of animals. And yet to me, what is this quintessence of
dust? Man delights not me; no, nor Woman neither; though by your smiling you
seem to say so.
(ws)