I Will Kill Thee A Hundred And

What Win I, If I Gain The Thing I Seek? A Dream, A Breath, A Froth Of Fleeting Joy. Who Buys A Minute's Mirth To Wail A Week? Or Sells Eternity To Get A Toy? For One Sweet Grape Who Will The Vine Destroy? Or What Fond Beggar, But To Touch The Crown, Would With The Sceptre Straight Be Strucken Down?

Awake, Dear Heart, Awake. Thou Hast Slept Well. Awake.

Me, Poor Man, My Library Was Dukedom Large Enough.

Do Not For One Repulse, Forego The Purpose That You Resolved To Effect.

Honor's Thought Reigns Solely In The Breast Of Every Man.