How Much An Ill Word May Empoison

Good Wine Needs No Bush.

Devoutly To Be Wish'd. To Die, To Sleep; To Sleep, Perchance To Dream—for In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come,when We Have Shuffled Off This Mortal Coil, Must Give Us Pause, There's The Respect, That Makes Calamity Of So Long Life

And In Some Perfumes There Is More Delight Than In The Breath That From My Mistress Reeks. I Love To Hear Her Speak, Yet Well I Know That Music Hath A Far More Pleasing Sound.

Affliction May One Day Smile Again; And Till Then, Sit Thee Down, Sorrow!.

What Should Such Fellows As I Do Crawling Between Earth And Heaven?