I Charge Thee, Hence, And Do Not

I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know Not--lost All My Mirth, Forgone All Custom Of Exercise.

Lord Polonius: What Do You Read, My Lord? Hamlet: Words, Words, Words. Lord Polonius: What Is The Matter, My Lord? Hamlet: Between Who? Lord Polonius: I Mean, The Matter That You Read, My Lord.

I Am Not Merry, But I Do Beguile The Thing I Am By Seeming Otherwise.

A Breath Thou Art, Servile To All The Skyey Influences.

Yield Not Thy Neck To Fortunes Yoke, But Let Thy Dauntless Mind Still Ride In Triumph Over All Mischance.