I Cannot Draw A Cart, Nor Eat

Not All The Water In The Rough Rude Sea Can Wash The Balm From An Anointed King.

For Mercutio's Soul Is But A Little Way Above Our Heads, Staying For Thine To Keep Him Company: Either Thou, Or I, Or Both, Must Go With Him.

It Is Not Enough To Speak, But To Speak Truee

Sin From Thy Lips? O Trespass Sweetly Urged! Give Me My Sin Again.

The Rain, It Raineth Every Day.