I have of late, wherefore I know not, lost all of my mirth. 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 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! And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor women neither. Nor women neither.