O, That Our Fathers Would Applause Our

A Jest's Prosperity Lies In The Ear Of Him That Hears It, Never In The Tongue Of Him That Makes It.

So Wise So Young, They Say, Do Never Live Long.

Piece Out Our Imperfections With Your Thoughts.

There's Her Cousin, An She Were Not Possessed With A Fury, Exceeds Her As Much In Beauty As The First Of May Doth The Last Of December.

To Die: - To Sleep: No More; And, By A Sleep To Say We End The Heart-ache And The Thousand Natural Shocks That Flesh Is Heir To, 'tis A Consummation Devoutly To Be Wished.