To Take Arms Against A Sea Of

If It Be A Sin To Covet Honor, I Am The Most Offending Soul.

No, No, I Am But Shadow Of Myself: You Are Deceived, My Substance Is Not Here.

Prepare For Mirth, For Mirth Becomes A Feast.

Misery Makes Sport To Mock Itself.

Our Very Eyes Are Sometimes, Like Our Judgments, Blind.