We Cannot All Be Masters, Nor All

Thy Wish Was Father, Harry, To That Thought.

For We, Which Now Behold These Present Days, Have Eyes To Wonder, But Lack Tongues To Praise.

I Cannot Tell What You And Other Men Think Of This Life; But, For My Single Self, I Had As Lief Not Be As Live To Be In Awe Of Such A Thing As I Myself.

This Most Excellent Canopy, The Air, Look You, This Brave O-erhanging Firmament, This Majestical Roof Fretted With Golden Fire.

Polonius: What Do You Read, My Lord? Hamlet: Words, Words, Words.