Wilt Thou Whip Thine Own Faults In

Were It Good To Set The Exact Wealth Of All Our States All At One Cast? To Set So Rich A Main On The Nice Hazard Of One Doubtful Hour? It Were Not Good.

Oh, God! I Have An Ill-divining Soul!

Our Jovial Star Reigned At His Birth.

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World, And Rouse From Sleep That Fell Anatomy Which Cannot Hear A Lady's Feeble Voice, Which Scorns A Modern Invocation.

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them.