I Shall Laugh Myself To Death At

If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On, Give Me Excess Of It; That Surfeiting, The Appetite May Sicken, And So Die.

And Oft, My Jealousy Shapes Faults That Are Not.

Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say!

Time Is The King Of Men.

Look To Her, Moor, If Thou Has Eyes To See. She Has Deceived Her Father, And May Thee.