Ay, Much Is The Force Of Heaven-bred

He Uses His Folly Like A Stalking-horse, And Under The Presentation Of That He Shoots His Wit.

This Rough Magic I Here Abjure And When I Have Required Some Heavenly Music, Which Even Now I Do, To Work Mine End Upon Their Senses That This Airy Charm Is For, I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book.

Men's Eyes Were Made To Look, And Let Them Gaze. I Will Not Budge For No Man's Pleasure.

If Fortune Torments Me, Hope Contents Me.

Cowards Die Many Times Before Their Deaths; The Valiant Never Taste Of Death But Once.