All The World's A Stage.

Being Holiday, The Beggar's Shop Is Shut.

And So, From Hour To Hour, We Ripe And Ripe. And Then, From Hour To Hour, We Rot And Rot; And Thereby Hangs A Tale.

I'll Be At Charges For A Looking-glass And Entertain A Score Or Two Of Tailors To Study Fashions To Adorn My Body: Since I Am Crept In Favor With Myself, I Will Maintain It With Some Little Cost.

O, What Damned Minutes Tells He O'er Who Dotes, Yet Doubts, Suspects, Yet Fondly Loves!

Hasty Marriage Seldom Proveth Well.