O The World Is But A Word;

If I Profane With My Unworthiest Hand This Holy Shrine, The Gentle Fine Is This: My Lips, Two Blushing Pilgrims, Ready Stand To Smooth That Rough Touch With A Tender Kiss.

My Affection Hath An Unknown Bottom, Like The Bay Of Portugal.

For My Grief's So Great That No Supporter But The Huge Firm Earth Can Hold It Up: Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It. (constance, From King John, Act Iii, Scene 1)

When Law Can Do No Right, Let It Be Lawful That Law Bar No Wrong.

Ay Me! Sad Hours Seem Long.