O Me, You Juggler, You

One Good Deed Dying Tongueless Slaughters A Thousand Waiting Upon That. Our Praises Are Our Wages.

Lay Her I' The Earth: And From Her Fair And Unpolluted Flesh May Violets Spring! I Tell Thee, Churlish Priest, A Ministering Angel Shall My Sister Be, When Thou Liest Howling. Hamlet. What, The Fair Ophelia! Queen Gertrude. Sweets To The Sweet: Farewell!

More Of Your Conversation Would Infect My Brain.

But Say, My Lord, It Were Not Regist'red, Methinks The Truth Should Live From Age To Age, As 'twere Retailed To All Posterity, Even To The General All-ending Day.

Conversation Should Be Pleasant Without Scurrility, Witty Without Affectation, Free Without Indecency, Learned Without Conceitedness, Novel Without Falsehood.