What Is Past Is Prologue.

The Gods Are Just, And Of Our Pleasant Vices Make Instruments To Plague Us.

I 'gin To Be Aweary Of The Sun, And Wish Th' Estate O' Th' World Were Now Undone.

Will All Great Neptune's Ocean Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand? No, This My Hand Will Rather The Multitudinous Seas Incarnadine, Making The Green One Red.

Come Not Between The Dragon And His Wrath.

If This Were Played Upon A Stage Now, I Could Condemn It As An Improbable Fiction.