My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me

But Now Behold, In The Quick Forge And Working-house Of Thought, How London Doth Pour Out Her Citizens!

With Mirth And Laughter Let Old Wrinkles Come. And Let My Liver Rather Heat With Wine, Than My Heart Cool With Mortifying Groans.

He That Is Giddy Thinks The World Turns Round.

Under The Greenwood Tree, Who Loves To Lie With Me And Tune His Merry Note, Unto The Sweet Bird's Throat; Come Hither, Come Hither, Come Hither. Here Shall He See No Enemy But Winter And Rough Weather.

I Drink To The General Joy O’ The Whole Table." Macbeth