Act I, Scene 14

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• Shakespeare. Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
  And yet methinks I have astronomy,
  But not to tell of good or evil luck, 185
  Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
  Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
  Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
  Or say with princes if it shall go well,
  By oft predict that I in heaven find: 190
  But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
  And, constant stars, in them I read such art
  As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
  If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
  Or else of thee this I prognosticate: 195
  Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.