Good Wine Is A Good Familiar Creature

Just Death, Kind Umpire Of Men's Miseries.

While We Lie Tumbling In The Hay.

For Night's Swift Dragons Cut The Clouds Full Fast, And Yonder Shines Aurora's Harbinger; At Whose Approach Ghosts Wandring Here And There Troop Home To Church-yards.... For Fear Lest Day Should Look Their Shames Upon, They Willfully Exile Themselves From Light, And Must For Aye Consort With Black Brow'd Night.

Sleep, That Sometimes Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye.

Desperate Times Breed Desperate Measures