Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds

So Many Miseries Have Craz'd My Voice, That My Woe-wearied Tongue Is Still And Mute.

A Goodly Portly Man, I' Faith, And A Corpulent; Of A Cheerful Look, A Pleasing Eye, And A Most Noble Carriage; And, As I Think, His Age Some Fifty, Or, By'r Lady, Inclining To Threescore; And Now I Remember Me, His Name Is Falstaff.

Do Thou Amend Thy Face, And I'll Amend My Life.

I'll Note You In My Book Of Memory.

Think'st Thou It Honourable For A Noble Man Still To Remember Wrongs?