Adieu, Adieu, Adieu! Remember Me.

The Time Is Out Of Joint.

Go, Write It In A Martial Hand; Be Curst And Brief; It Is No Matter How Witty, So It Be Eloquent And Fun Of Invention: Taunt Him With The Licence Of Ink: If Thou Thou'st Him Some Thrice, It Shall Not Be Amiss; And As Many Lies As Will Lie In Thy Shee.

Until I Know This Sure Uncertainty, I'll Entertain The Offered Fallacy.

Enjoy The Honey-heavy Dew Of Slumber.

The Tongues Of Mocking Wenches Are As Keen As Is The Razor's Edge Invisible.