Love's Best Habit Is A Soothing Tongue

It Is A Basilisk Unto Mine Eye, Kills Me To Look On't.

The Color Of The King Doth Come And Go, Between His Purpose And His Conscience, Like Heralds 'twixt Two Dreadful Battles Set: His Passion Is So Ripe, It Needs Must Break.

Tis Not A Year Or Two Shows Us A Man: They Are All But Stomachs, And We All But Food; They Eat Us Hungerly, And When They Are Full They Belch Us.

Live How We Can, Yet Die We Must.

You Great Benefactors, Sprinkle Our Society With Thankfulness. For Your Own Gifts, Make Yourselves Praised.