Good Wine Needs No Bush.

Methought I Heard A Voice Cry 'sleep No More! Macbeth Does Murder Sleep', The Innocent Sleep, Sleep That Knits Up The Ravell'd Sleeve Of Care, The Death Of Each Day's Life, Sore Labour's Bath, Balm Of Hurt Minds, Great Nature's Second Course, Chief Nourisher In Life's Feast...

Some There Be That Shadows Kiss; Such Have But A Shadow's Bliss.

I Have Seen The Day Of Wrong Through The Little Hole Of Discretion, And I Will Right Myself Like A Soldier.

Being Of No Power To Make His Wishes Good: His Promises Fly So Beyond His State That What He Speaks Is All In Debt; He Owes For Every Word.

In Thee Thy Mother Dies, Our Household's Name, My Death's Revenge, Thy Youth, And England's Fame.