When Great Leaves Fall, The Winter Is

When A Father Gives To His Son, Both Laugh; When A Son Gives To His Father, Both Cry.

Well, While I Live I'll Fear No Other Thing So Sore As Keeping Safe Nerissa's Ring.

Nothing Can Come Of Nothing.

Nay, Had I Pow'r, I Should Pour The Sweet Milk Of Concord Into Hell, Uproar The Universal Peace, Confound All Unity On Earth.

What Win I, If I Gain The Thing I Seek? A Dream, A Breath, A Froth Of Fleeting Joy. Who Buys A Minute's Mirth To Wail A Week? Or Sells Eternity To Get A Toy? For One Sweet Grape Who Will The Vine Destroy? Or What Fond Beggar, But To Touch The Crown, Would With The Sceptre Straight Be Strucken Down?