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Therefore I Tell My Sorrows To The Stones; Who, Though They Cannot Answer My Distress, Yet In Some Sort They Are Better Than The Tribunes, For That They Will Not Intercept My Tale: When I Do Weep, They Humbly At My Feet Receive My Tears And Seem To Weep With Me; And, Were They But Attired In Grave Weeds, Rome Could Afford No Tribune Like To These.

-William Shakespeare

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Therefore I Tell My

William Shakespeare

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Therefore I Tell My Sorrows To The Stones; Who, Though They Cannot Answer My Distress, Yet In Some Sort They Are Better Than The Tribunes, For That They Will Not Intercept My Tale: When I Do Weep, They Humbly At My Feet Receive My Tears And Seem To Weep With Me; And, Were They But Attired In Grave Weeds, Rome Could Afford No Tribune Like To These.

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When Devils Will The Blackest Sins Put On They Do Suggest At First With Heavenly Shows

If I Must Die, I Will Encounter Darkness As A Bride, And Hug It In Mine Arms.

Romans, Countrymen, And Lovers, Hear Me For My Cause, And Be Silent, That You May Hear.

The Better Part Of Valor Is Discretion, In The Which Better Part I Have Saved My Life.

Offering Advice

Thanks To Men Of Noble Minds, Is Honorable Meed.

The Tartness Of His Face Sours Ripe Grapes.

O, Let Him Pass. He Hates Him That Would Upon The Rack Of This Tough World Stretch Him Out Longer.

In Springtime, The Only Pretty Ring Time Birds Sing, Hey Ding A-ding, A-ding Sweet Lovers Love The Spring—

But Whate'er I Am, Nor I Nor Any Man That But Man Is, With Nothing Shall Be Pleased 'til He Be Eased With Being Nothing.

I Care Not, A Man Can Die But Once; We Owe God And Death.

Hast Any Philosophy In Thee Shepherd? .• • • • . . . He That Wants Money, Means And Content, Is Without Three Good Friends; That The Property Of Rain Is To Wet And Fire To Burn; That Good Pasture Makes Fat Sheep, And A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun; That He That Hath Learned No Wit By Nature Nor Art May Complain Of Good Breeding Or Comes Of A Very Dull Kindred.

Oh, Flatter Me; For Love Delights In Praises.

Yet Mark'd I Where The Bolt Of Cupid Fell: It Fell Upon A Little Western Flower, Before Milk-white, Now Purple With Love's Wound, And Maidens Call It Love-in-idleness.

I Dote On His Very Absence.

You See Me Here, You Gods, A Poor Old Man, As Full Of Grief As Age; Wretched In Both.

My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me

He Kills Her In Her Own Humor.

Taming Of The Shrew

Most Friendship Is Faining, Most Loving Mere Folly: Then, Heigh-ho, The Holly. This Life Is Most Jolly.

O, Thou Hast Damnable Iteration; And Art, Indeed, Able To Corrupt A Saint.

Come, Seeling Night, Scarf Up The Tender Eye Of Pitiful Day, And With Thy Bloody And Invisible Hand Cancel And Tear To Pieces That Great Bond Which Keeps Me Pale. Light Thickens, And The Crow Makes Wing To Th' Rooky Wood. Good Things Of Day Begin To Droop And Drowse, While Night's Black Agents To Their Prey Do Rouse.

These Signs Have Marked Me Extraordinary, And All The Courses Of My Life Do Show I Am Not In The Roll Of Common Men.

Think You A Little Din Can Daunt Mine Ears? Have I Not In My Time Heard Lions Roar? Have I Not Heard The Sea, Puffed Up With Winds, Rage Like An Angry Boar Chafed With Sweat? Have I Not Heard Great Ordinance In The Field, And Heaven's Artillery Thunder In The Skies? Have I Not In A Pitched Battle Heard Loud 'larums, Neighing Steeds, And Trumpets' Clang? And Do You Tell Me Of A Woman's Tongue, That Gives Not Half So Great A Blow To Hear As Will A Chestnut In A Farmer's Fire? Tush! Tush! Fear Boys With Bugs. Grumio: For He Fears None.

But Love Is Blind And Lovers Cannot See

Therefore, To Be Possess'd With Double Pomp, To Guard A Title That Was Rich Before, To Gild Refined Gold, To Paint The Lily, To Throw A Perfume On The Violet, To Smooth The Ice, Or Add Another Hue Unto The Rainbow, Or With Taper-light To Seek The Beauteous Eye Of Heaven To Garnish, Is Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess.

Rightly To Be Great Is Not To Stir Without Great Argument, But Greatly To Find Quarrel In A Straw When Honour's At The Stake.

Important Hamlet

Is It Thy Will, Thy Image Should Keep Open My Heavy Eyelids To The Weary Night? Dost Thou Desire My Slumbers Should Be Broken, While Shadows Like To Thee Do Mock My Sight? Is It Thy Spirit That Thou Send'st From Thee So Far From Home Into My Deeds To Pry, To Find Out Shames And Idle Hours In Me, The Scope And Tenor Of Thy Jealousy? O, No! Thy Love, Though Much, Is Not So Great: It Is My Love That Keeps Mine Eye Awake: Mine Own True Love That Doth My Rest Defeat, To Play The Watchman Ever For Thy Sake: For Thee Watch I, Whilst Thou Dost Wake Elsewhere, From Me Far Off, With Others All Too Near.

Come, And Take Choice Of All My Library, And So Beguile Thy Sorrow.

No Matter Where; Of Comfort No Man Speak: Let's Talk Of Graves, Of Worms, And Epitaphs; Make Dust Our Paper And With Rainy Eyes Write Sorrow On The Bosom Of The Earth

Friendship Is Full Of Dregs.

Hear The Meaning Within The Word.

Dealing With People

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds, That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief?

There's Hope A Great Man's Memory May Outlive His Life Half A Year.

No, No, No, No! Come, Let's Away To Prison: We Two Alone Will Sing Like Birds I' The Cage: When Thou Dost Ask Me Blessing, I'll Kneel Down, And Ask Of Thee Forgiveness: So We'll Live, And Pray, And Sing, And Tell Old Tales, And Laugh At Gilded Butterflies, And Hear Poor Rogues Talk Of Court News; And We'll Talk With Them Too, Who Loses And Who Wins; Who's In, Who's Out; And Take Upon's The Mystery Of Things, As If We Were God's Spies: And We'll Wear Out, In A Wall'd Prison, Packs And Sects Of Great Ones, That Ebb And Flow By The Moon.

Madam, You Have Bereft Me Of All Words, Only My Blood Speaks To You In My Veins.

Adversity Makes Strange Bedfellows.

Strange Bedfellows

And Nothing Is, But What Is Not.

Darkness In Macbeth

Since My Dear Soul Was Mistress Of Her Choice And Could Of Men Distinguish Her Election, Sh'ath Sealed Thee For Herself.

The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air

Lawn As White As Driven Snow; Cyprus Black As E'er Was Crow; Gloves As Sweet As Damask Roses.

Macbeth To Witches: What Are These So Wither'd And So Wild In Their Attire, That Look Not Like Th' Inhabitants O' Th' Earth, And Yet Are On 't?

O Faithless Coward! O Dishonest Wretch! Wilt Thou Be Made A Man Out Of My Vice?

I Loved Ophelia. Forty Thousand Brothers Could Not, With All Their Quantity Of Love, Make Up My Sum.

Hamlet And Ophelia

Why, Then The World ’s Mine Oyster, Which I With Sword Will Open.

Tis The Mind That Makes The Body Rich.

The Hand Of Little Employment Hath The Daintier Sense.

Have You Not A Moist Eye, A Dry Hand, A Yellow Cheek, A White Beard, A Decreasing Leg, An Increasing Belly? Is Not Your Voice Broken, Your Wind Short, Your Chin Double, Your Wit Single, And Every Part About You Blasted With Antiquity?

The Undiscovered Country From Whose Bourn No Traveler Returns.

Give Every Man Thine Ear, But Few Thy Voice; Take Each Man's Censure, But Reserve Thy Judgment.

Men Should Be What They Seem; Or Those That Be Not, Would They Might Seem None!.

More Fools Know Jack Fool Than Jack Fool Knows.

Fore God, You Have Here A Goodly Dwelling And A Rich.

Who Buys A Minute's Mirth To Wail A Week? Or Sell Eternity To Get A Toy? For One Grape Who Will The Vine Destroy?

'sblood, You Starveling, You Elf-skin, You Dried Neat's Tongue, You Bull's Pizzle, You Stock-fish! O For Breath To Utter What Is Like Thee! You Tailor's-yard, You Sheath, You Bowcase; You Vile Standing-tuck!

I Say, Without Characters, Fame Lives Long.

Wolves And Bears, They Say, Casting Their Savagery Aside, Have Done Like Offices Of Pity.

He That Dies Pays All Debts.

This Making Of Christians Will Raise The Price Of Hogs.

If After Every Tempest Come Such Calms, May The Winds Blow Till They Have Waken'd Death!

This Bud Of Love, By Summer's Ripening Breath, May Prove A Beauteous Flower When Next We Meet

Madness In Great Ones Must Not Unwatched Go.

I Like Not Fair Terms And A Villain's Mind.

See, What A Ready Tongue Suspicion Hath! He That But Fears The Thing He Would Not Know, Hath, By Instinct, Knowledge From Others' Eyes, That What He Feared Is Chanced.

Thou Lump Of Foul Deformity!

The Insolence Of Office.

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire; Doubt That The Sun Doth Move; Doubt Truth To Be A Liar; But Never Doubt I Love.

Never; He Will Not: Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety: Other Women Cloy The Appetites They Feed: But She Makes Hungry Where Most She Satisfies.

It Will Have Blood, They Say; Blood Will Have Blood.

Important Macbeth

Pray You Now, Forget And Forgive.

Forgive And Forget

Thus May Poor Fools Belive False Teachers.

Every Man Has His Fault, And Honesty Is His.

Bloody Instructions, Which, Being Taught, Return To Plague The Inventor.

Important Macbeth

A Pal Is One That Is Aware You While You Are, Understands Where You Have Already Been, Accepts Whatever You Are Becoming, And Continue To, Carefully Means That You Can Develop.

I'll Make My Heaven In A Lady's Lap

Nature Does Require Her Time Of Preservation, Which Perforce, I Her Frail Son Amongst My Brethren Mortal, Must Give My Attendance To.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose, And On Old Hiems' Thin And Icy Crown An Odorous Chaplet Of Sweet Summer Buds Is, As In Mockery, Set. The Spring, The Summer, The Childing Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries, And The Mazed World, By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

A Thousand Moral Paintings I Can Show That Shall Demonstrate These Quick Blows Of Fortune's More Pregnantly Than Words.

My Glass Shall Not Persuade Me I Am Old, So Long As Youth And Thou Are Of One Date; But When In Thee Time's Furrows I Behold, Then Look I Death My Days Should Expiate.

Say, Thou Art Mine; And Ever, My Love, As It Begins, Shall So Persevere

Like The Lily That Once Was Mistress Of The Field And Flourished, I'll Hang My Head And Perish.

Oh What Fools We Mortals Are.

Beauty, Wit, High Birth, Vigour Of Bone, Desert In Service, Love, Friendship, Charity, Are Subjects All To Envious And Calumniating Time.

Suit The Action To The Word : The Word To The Action : With This Special Observance That You O'erstep Not The Modesty Of Nature.

There's Rosemary And Rue. These Keep Seeming And Savor All The Winter Long. Grace And Remembrance Be To You.

No Doubt They Rose Up Early To Observe The Rite Of May; And, Hearing Our Intent, Came Here In Grace Of Our Solemnity.

So. Lie There, My Art.

There's Rosemary, That's For Remembrance. Pray You, Love, Remember.

Hamlet And Ophelia

Whats Here A Cup Closed In My True Loves Hand Poisin I See Hath Been His Timeless End. Oh Churl Drunk All And Left No Friendly Drop To Help Me After. I Will Kiss Thy Lips Some Poisin Doth Hang On Them, To Help Me Die With A Restorative. Thy Lips Are Warm. Yea Noise Then Ill Be Brief Oh Happy Dagger This Is Thy Sheath. There Rust And Let Me Die.

I'll Be At Charges For A Looking-glass And Entertain A Score Or Two Of Tailors To Study Fashions To Adorn My Body: Since I Am Crept In Favor With Myself, I Will Maintain It With Some Little Cost.

While Thou Livest Keep A Good Tongue In Thy Head.

To Be Furious, Is To Be Frighted Out Of Fear.

I Have A Bone To Pick With Fate

For Mine Own Part, It Was Greek To Me.

Good Night, Good Night! Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow, That I Shall Say Good Night Till It Be Morrow.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself

Short Time Seems Long In Sorrow's Sharp Sustaining.

If To Do Were As Easy As To Know What Were Good To Do, Chapels Had Been Churches, And Poor Men's Cottage Princes' Palaces.

Men Must Learn Now With Pity To Dispense; For Policy Sits Above Conscience.

Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It.

I Pray You, Do Not Fall In Love With Me, For I Am Falser Than Vows Made In Wine.

An Overflow Of Good Converts To Bad.

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

The Apparel Oft Proclaims The Man.

Good Wine Is A Good Familiar Creature If It Be Well Used.

Day, Night, Late, Early, At Home, Abroad, Alone, In Company, Waking Or Sleeping, Still My Care Hath Been To Have Her Match'd; And Having Now Provided A Gentleman Of Princely Parentage, Of Fair Demesnes, Youthful, And Nobly Train'd, Stuff'd, As They Say, With Honourable Parts, Proportion'd As One's Thought Would Wish A Man- And Then To Have A Wretched Puling Fool, A Whining Mammet, In Her Fortune's Tender, To Answer 'i'll Not Wed, I Cannot Love; I Am Too Young, I Pray You Pardon Me'!

For They Are Yet Ear-kissing Arguments.

O, How Full Of Briers Is This Working-day World!

O Good Old Man, How Well In Thee Appears The Constant Service Of The Antique World, When Service Sweat For Duty, Not For Meed! Thou Art Not For The Fashion Of These Times, Where None Will Sweat But For Promotion, And Having That Do Choke Their Service Up Even With The Having. . . .

I Thank God I Am Not A Woman, To Be Touched In So Many Giddy Offences As He Hath Generally Taxed Their Whole Their Whole Sex Withal.

All Lovers Swear More Performance Than They Are Able, And Yet Reserve An Ability That They Never Perform; Vowing More Than The Perfection Of Ten, And Discharging Less Than The Tenth Part Of One.

A Woman's Fitness Comes By Fits.

They Are In The Very Wrath Of Love, And They Will Go Together. Clubs Cannot Part Them

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking: I Could Well Wish Courtesy Would Invent Some Other Custom Of Entertainment.

Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons." -- (miranda, I:2)

Here Comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With His Mouth Full Of News. Celia: Which He Will Put On Us, As Pigeons Feed Their Young. Rosalind: Then Shall We Be News-crammed. Celia: All The Better; We Shall Be The More Marketable.

My Friends Were Poor, But Honest, So's My Love.

Are There No Stones In Heaven But What Serves For Thunder?

This Day's Black Fate On More Days Doth Depend; This But Begins The Woe, Others Must End.

Now Get You To My Lady's Chamber, And Tell Her, Let Her Paint An Inch Thick, To This Favour She Must Come; Make Her Laugh At That.

Important Hamlet

Can One Desire Too Much Of A Good Thing?

Beauty Is Bought By Judgement Of The Eye.

Beautiful Women

Thou Art Sad; Get Thee A Wife, Get Thee A Wife!

There Should Be Hours For Necessities, Not For Delights; Times To Repair Our Nature With Comforting Repose, And Not For Us To Waste These Times.

O Serpent Heart Hid With A Flowering Face! Did Ever A Dragon Keep So Fair A Cave? Beautiful Tyrant, Feind Angelical, Dove Feather Raven, Wolvish-ravening Lamb! Despised Substance Of Devinest Show, Just Opposite To What Thou Justly Seemest - A Dammed Saint, An Honourable Villain!

O, Pardon Me, Thou Bleeding Piece Of Earth, / That I Am Meek And Gentle With These Butchers!

Time Shall Unfold What Plaited Cunning Hides: Who Cover Faults, At Last Shame Them Derides.

Alack, The Night Comes On, And The Bleak Winds Do Sorely Ruffle; For Many Miles About There's Scarce A Bush.

The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome In His Own Deliciousness, And In The Taste Confounds The Appetite: Therefore Love Moderately— Long Love Doth So.

Temptation Is The Fire That Brings Up The Scum Of The Heart.

I Have Not Slept One Wink.

How Soar Sweet Music Is, When Time Is Broke, And No Proportion Kept!

What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbl'd Shore, So Do Our Minutes, Hasten To Their End.

Thy Friendship Makes Us Fresh.

All Days Are Nights To See Till I See Thee, And Nights Bright Days When Dreams Do Show Thee Me.

What Wouldst Thou Do, Old Man? Think'st Thou That Duty Shall Have Dread To Speak When Power To Flattery Bows?

Who Can Be Patient In Extremes?

Take Physic, Pomp; Expose Thyself To Feel What Wretches Feel, That Thou Mayst Shake The Superflux To Them And Show The Heavens More Just.

You Saw Her Fair, None Else Being By, Herself Pois'd With Herself In Either Eye; But In That Crystal Scales Let There Be Weigh'd Your Lady's Love Against Some Other Maid That I Will Show You Shining At This Feast, And She Shall Scant Show Well That Now Seems Best.

They Whose Guilt Within Their Bosom Lies, Imagine Every Eye Beholds Their Blame.

What Cannot Be Saved When Fate Takes, Patience Her Injury A Mockery Makes

He Is Winding The Watch Of His Wit; By And By It Will Strike.

Love Goes Toward Love As Schoolboys From Their Books, But Love From Love, Toward School With Heavy Looks.

I Am Joined With No Foot Land-rakers, No Long-staff, Sixpenny Strikers, None Of These Mad, Mustachio Purple-hued Maltworms, But With Nobility And Tranquillity.

Love Moderately. Long Love Doth So. Too Swift Arrives As Tardy As Too Slow. *love Each Other In Moderation. That Is The Key To Long-lasting Love. Too Fast Is As Bad As Too Slow.*

I Have Trod A Measure, I Have Flattered A Lady, I Have Been Politic With My Friend, Smooth With Mine Enemy.

I Am Such A Tender Ass, If My Hair Do But Tickle Me, I Must Scratch.

Truth Hath A Quiet Breast.

For 'tis The Sport To Have The Engineerhoist With His Own Petard.

Confusion Now Hath Made His Masterpiece.

Lord Polonius: What Do You Read, My Lord? Hamlet: Words, Words, Words. Lord Polonius: What Is The Matter, My Lord? Hamlet: Between Who? Lord Polonius: I Mean, The Matter That You Read, My Lord.

Do Thou Amend Thy Face, And I'll Amend My Life.

Mine Honour Is My Life; Both Grow In One; Take Honour From Me, And My Life Is Done.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

Merchant Of Venice

I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book!

What, No More Ceremony? See, My Women! Against The Blown Rose May They Stop Their Nose That Kneel'd Unto The Buds.

She Marking Them Begins A Wailing Note And Sings Extemporally A Woeful Ditty How Love Makes Young Men Thrall And Old Men Dote How Love Is Wise In Folly, Foolish-witty Her Heavy Anthem Still Concludes In Woe, And Still The Choir Of Echoes Answer So.

I Am Disgraced, Impeached, And Baffled Here, Pierced To The Soul With Slander's Venomed Spear.

For He Was Likely, Had He Been Put On, To Have Proved Most Royally.

To Mourn A Mischief That Is Past And Gone Is The Next Way To Draw New Mischief On.

While We Lie Tumbling In The Hay.

If Ever Thou Be'st Bound In Thy Scarf And Beaten, Thou Shalt Find What It Is To Be Proud Of Thy Bondage.

Too Early Seen Unknown, And Known Too Late!

If I For My Opinion Bleed, Opinion Shall Be Surgeon To My Hurt, And Keep Me On The Side Where Still I Am.

And Sleep, That Sometime Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye, Steal Me Awhile From Mine Own Company.

When I Have Seen By Time's Fell Hand Defaced The Rich Proud Cost Of Outworn Buried Age; When Sometime Lofty Towers I See Down-razed And Brass Eternal Slave To Mortal Rage; When I Have Seen The Hungry Ocean Gain Advantage On The Kingdom Of The Shore, And The Firm Soil Win Of The Watery Main, Increasing Store With Loss And Loss With Store; When I Have Seen Such Interchange Of State, Or State Itself Confounded To Decay; Ruin Hath Taught Me Thus To Ruminate, That Time Will Come And Take My Love Away. This Thought Is As A Death Which Cannot Choose But Weep To Have That Which It Fears To Lose.

Tis Beauty That Doth Oft Make Women Proud; But, God He Knows, Thy Share Thereof Is Small.

This Rough Magic I Here Abjure And When I Have Required Some Heavenly Music, Which Even Now I Do, To Work Mine End Upon Their Senses That This Airy Charm Is For, I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book.

I Have A Soul Of Lead So Stakes Me To The Ground I Cannot Move.

Every Why Hath A Wherefore.

Cause And Effect

Love Comforteth Like Sunshine After Rain, But Lust's Effect Is Tempest After Sun; Love's Gentle Spring Doth Always Fresh Remain, Lust's Winter Comes Ere Summer Half Be Done; Love Surfeits Not, Lust Like A Glutton Dies; Love Is All Truth, Lust Full Of Forged Lies.

I See That The Fashion Wears Out More Apparel Than The Man.

No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead Than You Shall Hear The Surly Sullen Bell Give Warning To The World That I Am Fled From This Vile World With Vilest Worms To Dwell: Nay, If You Read This Line, Remember Not The Hand That Writ It, For I Love You So, That I In Your Sweet Thoughts Would Be Forgot, If Thinking On Me Then Should Make You Woe. O! If, I Say, You Look Upon This Verse When I Perhaps Compounded Am With Clay, Do Not So Much As My Poor Name Rehearse; But Let Your Love Even With My Life Decay; Lest The Wise World Should Look Into Your Moan, And Mock You With Me After I Am Gone.

An Arrant Traitor As Any Is In The Universal World, Or In France, Or In England.

At Christmas, I No More Desire A Rose.

In Scorn Of Nature, Art Gave Lifeless Life.

They Say, The Tongues Of Dying Men Enforce Attention, Like Deep Harmony; Where Words Are Scarce, They're Seldom Spent In Vain; For They Breathe Truth, That Breathe Their Words In Pain.

He That Hath A Beard Is More Than A Youth, And He That Hath No Beard Is Less Than A Man. He That Is More Than A Youth Is Not For Me, And He That Is Less Than A Man, I Am Not For Him.

Modest Wisdom Plucks Me From Over-credulous Haste.

Were It Good To Set The Exact Wealth Of All Our States All At One Cast? To Set So Rich A Main On The Nice Hazard Of One Doubtful Hour? It Were Not Good.

Thou Whoreson, Senseless Villain!

Well, God's Above All; And There Be Souls Must Be Saved, And There Be Souls Must Not Be Saved.

Hang There Like Fruit, My Soul, Till The Tree Die!

O Most Delicate Fiend! Who Is't Can Read A Woman? Is There More?

I Once Did Hold It, As Our Statists Do, A Baseness To Write Fair, And Labour'd Much How To Forget That Learning; But, Sir, Now It Did Me Yeoman's Service.

That But This Blow Might Be The Be-all And The End-all Here, But Here, Upon This Bank And Shoal Of Time, We'ld Jump The Life To Come.

It Is The Very Error Of The Moon; She Comes More Nearer Earth Than She Was Wont, And Makes Men Mad.

And Writers Say, As The Most Forward Bud Is Eaten By The Canker Ere It Blow, Even So By Love The Young And Tender Wit Is Turn'd To Folly, Blasting In The Bud, Losing His Verdure Even In The Prime, And All The Fair Effects Of Future Hopes.

If Fortune Torments Me, Hope Contents Me.

Ships Are But Boards, Sailors But Men.

You Great Benefactors, Sprinkle Our Society With Thankfulness. For Your Own Gifts, Make Yourselves Praised.

Why, Thou Deboshed Fish Thou...wilt Thou Tell A Monstrous Lie, Being But Half A Fish And Half A Monster?

Friendship Is Constant In All Other Things, Save In The Office And Affairs Of Love.

What A Terrible Era In Which Idiots Govern The Blind.

There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murder In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell.

Be Cheerful; Wipe Thine Eyes: Some Falls Are Means The Happier To Arise

What A Fool Honesty Is.

If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On.

Now, God Be Praised, That To Believing Souls Gives Light In Darkness, Comfort In Despair.

So All My Best Is Dressing Old Words New.

Pardon, Gentles All, The Flat Unraised Spirits That Have Dared On This Unworthy Scaffold To Bring Forth So Great An Object.

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