Now Is The Winter Of

Why, Who Cries Out On Pride That Can Therein Tax Any Private Party? Doth It Not Flow As Hugely As The Sea Till The Weary Very Means Do Ebb?

A Pair Of Star-crossed Lovers.

Old Fashions Please Me Best; I Am Not So Nice To Change True Rules For Odd Inventions.

There Are A Sort Of Men, Whose Visages Do Cream And Mantle, Like A Standing Pond; And Do A Willful Stillness Entertain, With Purpose To Be Dressed In An Opinion Of Wisdom, Gravity Profound Conceit; As Who Should Say, I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark!

Learning Is But An Adjunct To Ourself, And Where We Are Our Learning Likewise Is.