Sin, That Amends, Is But Patched With

Foolery, Sir, Does Walk About The Orb Like The Sun; It Shines Everywhere.

Methinks A Father Is At The Nuptial Of His Son A Guest That Best Becomes The Table.

Fortune Is Merry, And In This Mood Will Give Us Anything.

The Day Shall Not Be Up So Soon As I, To Try The Fair Adventure Of Tomorrow.

There Is Nothing Serious In Mortality