The Gloomy Shade Of Death.

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.

Now The Melancholy God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Garments Of Changeable Taffeta, For Thy Mind Is Opal.

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand?

Better Three Hours Too Soon Than A Minute Too Late.

Think, When We Talk Of Horses, That You See Them Printing Their Proud Hoofs I' The Receiving Earth.