O! For A Muse Of Fire, That

Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The Mortal Temples Of A King Keeps Death His Court.

All The World's A Stage, And All The Men And Women Mearly Players.

I Wish My Horse Had The Speed Of Your Tongue.

Appetite, A Universal Wolf.

If Thou Couldst, Doctor, Cast The Water Of My Land, Find Her Disease, And Purge It To A Sound And Pristine Health, I Would Applaud Thee To The Very Echo, That Should Applaud You Again.