Will You Walk Out Of The Air,

Thus Conscience Does Make Cowards Of Us All; And Thus The Native Hue Of Resolution Is Slicked O'er With The Pale Cast Of Thought

Melancholy Is The Nurse Of Frenzy.

You Must Confine Yourself Within The Modest Limits Of Order.

Foul Cankering Rust The Hidden Treasure Frets, But Gold That's Put To Use More Gold Begets.

I See A Woman May Be Made A Fool, If She Had Not A Spirit To Resist.