You Blocks, You Stones, You Worse Than

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy.

The Curse Of Marriage That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites!

There's Nothing In This World Can Make Me Joy.

Let Us Our Lives, Our Souls, Our Debts, Our Careful Wives, Our Children, And Our Sins, Lay On The King!

How Poor Are They That Have Not Patience! What Wound Did Ever Heal But By Degrees?