Striving To Better, Oft We Mar What’s

This Man, Lady, Hath Robb'd Many Beasts Of Their Particular Additions: He Is As Valiant As A Lion, Churlish As The Bear, Slow As The Elephant-a Man Into Whom Nature Hath So Crowded Humours That His Valour Is Crush'd Into Folly, His Folly Sauced With Discretion.

He Does Me Double Wrong That Wounds Me With The Flatteries Of His Tongue.

Love Does Not See With The Eyes, But With The Soul.

Use Every Man After His Desert, And Who Should Scape Whipping?

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand?