The Bird That Hath Been Limed In

This Most Excellent Canopy, The Air, Look You, This Brave O-erhanging Firmament, This Majestical Roof Fretted With Golden Fire.

Tomorrow, And Tomorrow, And Tomorrow,creeps In This Petty Pace From Day To Day

Would It Not Grieve A Woman To Be Over-mastered By A Piece Of Valiant Dust? To Make An Account Of Her Life To A Clod Of Wayward Marle?

I Am Very Proud, Revengeful, Ambitious, With More Offences At My Beck Than I Have Thoughts To Put Them In, Imagination To Give Them Shape, Or Time To Act Them In.

I Cannot Draw A Cart, Nor Eat Dried Oats; If It Be Man's Work, I'll Do't.