Better Three Hours Too Soon Than A

Truly, I Would Not Hang A Dog By My Will, Much More A Man Who Hath Any Honesty In Him.

And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.

Scarce Can I Speak, My Choler Is So Great. Oh! I Could Hew Up Rocks, And Fight With Flint.

Arise, Fair Sun, And Kill The Envious Moon, Who Is Already Sick And Pale With Grief That Thou, Her Maid, Art Far More Fair Than She. . . .

He's Mad That Trusts In The Tameness Of A Wolf.