Be Not Afeard; The Isle Is Full

Blow, Winds, And Crack Your Cheeks! Rage! Blow! You Cataracts And Hurricanoes, Spout Till You Have Drenched Our Teeples, Drowned The Cocks! You Sulphurour And Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-couriers To Oak-cleaving Thunderbolts, Singe My White Head! And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Molds, All Germens Spill At Once That Make Ingrateful Man!

What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

I Do Know When The Blood Burns, How Prodigal The Soul Lends The Tongue Vows.

But, Soft! What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks? It Is The East, And Juliet Is The Sun.

Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loath To Prove Reason With Them.