If Fortune Torments Me, Hope Contents Me.

O, Swear Not By The Moon, The Fickle Moon, The Inconstant Moon, That Monthly Changes In Her Circle Orb, Lest That Thy Love Prove Likewise Variable

An Habitation Giddy And Unsure Hath He That Buildeth On The Vulgar Heart.

No Might Nor Greatness In Mortality Can Censure 'scape; Back- Wounding Calumny The Whitest Virtue Strikes. What King So Strong Can Tie The Gall Up In The Slanderous Tongue?

Who Can Be Wise, Amazed, Temperate And Furious, Loyal And Neutral, In A Moment? No Man.

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men; And Being Men, Hearing The Will Of Caesar, It Will Inflame You, It Will Make You Mad.