All The World's A Stage.

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

But No Perfection Is So Absolute, That Some Impurity Doth Not Pollute.

For Night's Swift Dragons Cut The Clouds Full Fast, And Yonder Shines Aurora's Harbinger; At Whose Approach Ghosts Wandring Here And There Troop Home To Church-yards.... For Fear Lest Day Should Look Their Shames Upon, They Willfully Exile Themselves From Light, And Must For Aye Consort With Black Brow'd Night.

Take Heed, Dear Heart, Of This Large Privilege; The Hardest Knife Ill-used Doth Lose His Edge.

Sweetest Nut Hath Sourest Rind.