Love Is Not Love That Alters When

Let Them Obey That Knows Not How To Rule.

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

Is It Possible He Should Know What He Is, And Be That He Is?

There Is A Tide In The Affairs Of Men

Let's Talk Of Graves, Of Worms, And Epitaphs; Make Dust Our Paper, And With Rainy Eyes Write Sorrow On The Bosom Of The Earth.... [w]hat Can We Bequeath, Save Our Deposed Bodies To The Ground?... [n]othing Can We Call Our Own, But Death... [l]et Us Sit Upon The Ground, And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings: - How Some Have Been Depos'd, Some Slain In War; Some Haunted By The Ghosts They Have Depos'd.