Besides, They Are Our Outward Consciences, And

Come What Sorrow Can, It Cannot Countervail The Exchange Of Joy, That One Short Minute Gives Me In Her Sight

But O, How Bitter A Thing It Is To Look Into Happiness Through Another Man's Eyes.

The Horn, The Horn, The Lusty Horn Is Not A Thing To Laugh To Scorn.

Rashly, And Praised Be Rashness For It--let Us Know, Our Indiscretion Sometime Serves Us Well When Our Deep Plots Do Pall, And That Should Learn Us There's A Divinity That Shapes Our Ends, Rough-hew Them How We Will

They That Stand High Have Many Blasts To Shake Them.