There's Rosemary And Rue. These Keep Seeming

Now Let It Work. Mischief, Thou Art Afoot. Take Thou What Course Thou Wilt.

The Third Day Comes A Frost, A Killing Frost.

Can I Go Forward When My Heart Is Here?

You See Me Here, You Gods, A Poor Old Man, As Full Of Grief As Age; Wretched In Both.

Men At Some Time Are Masters Of Their Fates. The Fault, Dear Brutus, Is Not In Our Stars, But In Ourselves, That We Are Underlings.