I Cannot Do It Without Comp[u]ters.

That Skull Had A Tongue In It, And Could Sing Once: How The Knave Jowls It To The Ground, As If It Were Cain's Jaw-bone, That Did The First Murder! It Might Be The Pate Of A Politician, Which This Ass Now O'er-reaches; One That Would Circumvent God, Might It Not?

Gentle And Low, An Excellent Thing In Woman.

Lay On, Mcduff, And Be Damned He Who First Cries, 'hold, Enough!

Unnatural Deeds Do Breed Unnatural Troubles.

Against Ill Chances Men Are Ever Merry, But Heaviness Foreruns The Good Event.