The Band That Seems To Tie Their

I Do The Wrong, And First Begin To Brawl. The Secret Mischiefs That I Set Abroach I Lay Unto The Grievous Charge Of Others.

There's Some Ill Planet Reigns: I Must Be Patient Till The Heavens Look With An Aspect More Favourable.

Alas, Poor Yorick! I Knew Him, Horatio: A Fellow Of Infinite Jest, Of Most Excellent Fancy: He Hath Borne Me On His Back A Thousand Times; And Now, How Abhorred In My Imagination It Is! My Gorge Rims At It. Here Hung Those Lips That I Have Kissed I Know Not How Oft. Where Be Your Gibes Now? Your Gambols? Your Songs? Your Flashes Of Merriment, That Were Wont To Set The Table On A Roar? Not One Now, To Mock Your Own Grinning? Quite Chap-fallen?

The King Hath Note Of All That They Intend, By Interception Which They Dream Not Of.

This Sanguine Coward, This Bed-presser, This Horseback-breaker, This Huge Hill Of Flesh!