Your Praises Will Become Your Wages.

Methought I Heard A Voice Cry 'sleep No More! Macbeth Does Murder Sleep', The Innocent Sleep, Sleep That Knits Up The Ravell'd Sleeve Of Care, The Death Of Each Day's Life, Sore Labour's Bath, Balm Of Hurt Minds, Great Nature's Second Course, Chief Nourisher In Life's Feast...

But I, That Am Not Shaped For Sportive Tricks, Nor Made To Court An Amorous Looking-glass; I, That Am Rudely Stamped, And Want Love's Majesty To Strut Before A Wanton Ambling Nymph.

Let Every Eye Negotiate For Itself And Trust No Agent.

God's Will! My Liege, Would You And I Alone, Without More Help, Could Fight This Royal Battle!

No Villainous Bounty Yet Hath Passed My Heart; Unwisely, Not Ignobly, Have I Given.