I Myself Am Best When Least In

An Old Black Ram Is Tupping Your White Ewe

I Hold The World But As The World, Gratiano; A Stage Where Every Man Must Play A Part, And Mine Is A Sad One.

I Think The King Is But A Man As I Am: The Violet Smells To Him As It Doth To Me.

Not From The Stars Do I My Judgement Pluck, And Yet Methinks I Have Astronomy. But Not To Tell Of Good Or Evil Luck, Of Plagues, Of Dearths, Or Season's Quality; Nor Can I Fortune To Brief Minutes Tell ... Or Say With Princes If It Shall Go Well.

Soft Pity Enters An Iron Gate.