Greatness Knows Itself.

Uneasy Lies The Head That Wears A Crown.

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.

The Cat Will Mew, And Dog Will Have His Day.

But, Soft! What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks? It Is The East, And Juliet Is The Sun.

These Times Of Woe Afford No Time To Woo.