They Are Hare-brain'd Slaves.

The Undiscovered Country From Whose Bourn No Traveler Returns.

But If The While I Think On Thee, Dear Friend, All Losses Are Restored And Sorrows End.

The Play's The Thing, Wherein I'll Catch The Conscience Of The King.

All's Well That Ends Well; Still The Fine's The Crown. Whate'er The Course, The End Is The Renown.

Society Is No Comfort, To One Not Sociable.