The Tyrant Custom, Most Grave Senators, Hath

Therefore, To Be Possess'd With Double Pomp, To Guard A Title That Was Rich Before, To Gild Refined Gold, To Paint The Lily, To Throw A Perfume On The Violet, To Smooth The Ice, Or Add Another Hue Unto The Rainbow, Or With Taper-light To Seek The Beauteous Eye Of Heaven To Garnish, Is Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess.

Speak Of Me As I Am. Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice.

It Is The Witness Still Of Excellency To Put A Strange Face On His Own Perfection.

If We Shadows Have Offended, Think But This, And All Is Mended, That You Have But Slumber'd Here While These Visions Did Appear.

For 'tis The Sport To Have The Engineer Hoist With His Own Petar; And't Shall Go Hard But I Will Delve One Yard Below Their Mines And Blow Them At The Moon.