I Was Born Free As Caesar; So

Hell Is Empty And All The Devils Are Here.

I Love A Ballad But Even Too Well If It Be Doleful Matter Merrily Set Down, Or A Very Pleasant Thing Indeed And Sung Lamentably.

Avaunt, You Cullions!

Sweet Flowers Are Slow And Weeds Make Haste.

The Wind-shak'd Surge, With High And Monstrous Main, Seems To Cast Water On The Burning Bear, And Quench The Guards Of The Ever-fixed Pole.