And She's Fair I Love.

Delay Leads Impotent And Snail-paced Beggary.

Too Much Of Water Hast Thou, Poor Ophelia, And Therefore I Forbid My Tears: But Yet It Is Our Trick; Nature Her Custom Holds, Let Shame Say What It Will: When These Are Gone, The Woman Will Be Out. — Adieu, My Lord! I Have A Speech Of Fire, That Fain Would Blaze, But That This Folly Drowns It.

Heaven Truly Knows That Thou Art False As Hell.

Vaulting Ambition, Which O'erleaps Itself And Falls On The Other Side

No Metal Can--no, Not The Hangman's Axe--bear Half The Keenness Of Thy Sharp Envy.