Highly Fed And Lowly Taught.

O, That This Too Too Solid Flesh Would Melt Thaw And Resolve Itself Into A Dew! Or That The Everlasting Had Not Fix'd His Canon 'gainst Self-slaughter! O God! God! How Weary, Stale, Flat And Unprofitable, (135) Seem To Me All The Uses Of This World! Fie On't! Ah Fie! 'tis An Unweeded Garden, That Grows To Seed; Things Rank And Gross In Nature Possess It Merely. That It Should Come To This! But Two Months Dead: Nay, Not So Much, Not Two: (140) So Excellent A King; That Was, To This.

By My Soul I Swear, There Is No Power In The Tongue Of Man To Alter Me.

What Can Be Avoided Whose End Is Purposed By The Mighty Gods?

Can It Be Chat Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness?

Remuneration! O! That's The Latin Word For Three Farthings