Methought I Was Enamour'd Of An Ass.

And Gentlemen In England Now-a-bed Shall Think Themselves Accurs'd They Were Not Here, And Hold Their Manhoods Cheap Whiles Any Speaks That Fought With Us Upon Saint Crispin's Day.

I Know No Ways To Mince It In Love, But Directly To Say - I Love You

O God, I Could Be Bound In A Nutshell, And Count Myself A King Of Infinite Space – Were It Not That I Have Bad Dreams.

That Affable Familiar Ghost Which Nightly Gulls Him With Intelligence.

The Hind That Would Be Mated By The Lion Must Die For Love.