All The World's A Stage.

And Too Soon Marred Are Those So Early Made.

Ships Are But Boards, Sailors But Men; There Be Land-rats And Water-rats, Water-thieves And Land-thieves, I Mean Pirates, And Thenthere Is The Peril Of Waters, Winds, And Rocks.

I'll Be Supposed Upon A Book, His Face Is The Worst Thing About Him.

I Can Again Thy Former Light Restore, Should I Repent Me: But Once Put Out Thy Light, Thou Cunning'st Pattern Of Excelling Nature, I Know Not Where Is That Promethean Heat That Can Thy Light Relume.

The Will Is Infinite And The Execution Confin'd, The Desire Is Boundless And The Act A Slave To Limit.