Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few

What A Piece Of Work Is A Man, How Noble In Reason, How Infinite In Faculties, In Form And Moving How Express And Admirable, In Action How Like An Angel, In Apprehension How Like A God.

What's The News? None, My Lord, But That The World's Grown Honest, Then Is Doomsday Near.

Mine Eyes Were Not In Fault, For She Was Beautiful; Mine Ears, That Heard Her Flattery; Nor My Heart, That Thought Her Like Her Seeming. It Had Been Vicious To Have Mistrusted Her.

How Much An Ill Word May Empoison Liking!

The Weakest Kind Of Fruit Drops Earliest To The Ground.