Sleep, That Sometimes Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye.

I Am Asham'd That Women Are So Simple To Offer War Where They Should Kneel For Peace.

Who Can Be Wise, Amazed, Temperate And Furious, Loyal And Neutral, In A Moment? No Man.

Cry "havoc!" And Let Loose The Dogs Of War, That This Foul Deed Shall Smell Above The Earth With Carrion Men, Groaning For Burial.

But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In The Most Humorous Sadness.

There's Never A Villain Dwelling In All Denmark But He's An Arrant Knave.