I Am A Foe To Tyrants, And

Now, By The World, It Is A Lusty Wench; I Love Her Ten Times More Than E'er I Did: O, How I Long To Have Some Chat With Her!

To Sleep Perchance To Dream

In Sweet Music Is Such Art: Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

Where Is Your Ancient Courage? You Were Used To Say Extremities Was The Trier Of Spirits; That Common Chances Common Men Could Bear; That When The Sea Was Calm All Boats Alike Showed Mastership In Floating.

Put Money In Thy Purse.