I could be well mov’d, if I were as you; If I could pray to move, prayers would move me; But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumb’red sparks, They are all fire, and every one doth shine; But there’s but one in all doth hold his place. So in the world: ’tis furnish’d well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; Yet in the number I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshak’d of motion; and that I am he,
