Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!

This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth

The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,

And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,

And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely

His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

This many summers in a sea of glory,

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride

At length broke under me and now has left me,

Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:

I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched

Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!

There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

More pangs and fears than wars or women have:

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A man whose blood

Is very snow-broth; one who never feels

The wanton stings and motions of the sense.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 4.

A pleasing land of drowsyhed it was,

Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;

And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,

Forever flushing round a summer sky:

There eke the soft delights that witchingly

Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast,

And the calm pleasures always hover'd nigh;

But whate'er smack'd of noyance or unrest

Was far, far off expell'd from this delicious nest.

James Thomson (1700-1748): The Castle of Indolence. Canto i. Stanza 6.

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

Jest and youthful Jollity,

Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,

Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles.

John Milton (1608-1674): L'Allegro. Line 25.