How Every Fool Can Play Upon The

What Freezings I Have Felt, What Dark Days Seen, What Old December's Bareness Everywhere!

If Wishes Would Prevail With Me, My Purpose Should Not Fail With Me.

O World, World! Thus Is The Poor Agent Despised. O Traitors And Bawds, How Earnestly Are You Set A-work, And How Ill Requited! Why Should Our Endeavor Be So Loved, And The Performance So Loathed?

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.

In Truth, Fair Montague, I Am Too Fond.