You Wear Out A Good

For Sweetest Things Turn Sourest By Their Deeds; Lillies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

Now Entertain Conjecture Of A Time When Creeping Murmur And The Poring Dark Fills The Wide Vessel Of The Universe.

Her Passions Are Made Of Nothing But The Finest Part Of Pure Love

Who Knows Himself A Braggart, Let Him Fear This; For It Will Come To Pass That Every Braggart Will Be Found An Ass.

Gloucester: I Do Not Know That Englishman Alive With Whom My Soul Is Any Jot At Odds, More Than The Infant That Is Born To-night: I Thank My God For My Humility.