The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounc'd It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue.

Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be!

You Had Measured How Long A Fool You Were Upon The Ground.

Fie, Fie Upon Her! There's Language In Her Eye, Her Cheek, Her Lip, Nay, Her Foot Speaks; Her Wanton Spirits Look Out At Every Joint And Motive Of Her Body.

Do All Men Kill The Things They Do Not Love ............ The Quality Of Mercy Is Not Strain'd It Droppeth As The Gentle Rain From Heaven Upon The Place Beneath: It Is Twice Blest It Blesseth Him That Gives And Him That Takes