Let Him Smell His Way To Dover!

Love Hath Made Thee A Tame Snake

Thou Art A Boil, A Plague Sore, An Embossed Carbuncle In My Corrupted Blood.

He Was Met Even Now As Mad As The Vex'd Sea; Singing Aloud; Crown'd With Rank Fumiter And Furrow-weeds, With Bur-docks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, And All The Idle Weeds That Grow In Our Sustaining Corn.

She Lov'd Me For The Dangers I Had Pass'd, And I Lov'd Her That She Did Pity Them

Good Hamlet, Cast Thy Nighted Colour Off ... Do Not For Ever With Thy Vailed Lids Seek For Thy Noble Father In The Dust.