Come, Gentlemen, I Hope We Shall Drink

This Is A Way To Kill A Wife With Kindness.

Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth Too Dear.

But, Soft! What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks? It Is The East, And Juliet Is The Sun. Arise, Fair Sun, And Kill The Envious Moon, Who Is Already Sick And Pale With Grief, That Thou, Her Maid, Art Far More Fair Than She. Be Not Her Maid, Since She Is Envious; Her Vestal Livery Is But Sick And Green And None But Fools Do Wear It; Cast It Off. It Is My Lady, O, It Is My Love! Oh, That She Knew She Were!

How Now, Wit! Whither Wander You?

Till Our King Henry Had Shook Hands With Death.