The Lady Doth Protest Too Much, Methinks.

Dream On, Dream On, Of Bloody Deeds And Death.

O, Swear Not By The Moon, The Fickle Moon, The Inconstant Moon, That Monthly Changes In Her Circle Orb, Lest That Thy Love Prove Likewise Variable

I Love Thee, And It Is My Love That Speaks

Your Face, My Thane, Is As A Book Where Men May Read Strange Matters. To Beguile The Time, Look Like The Time; Bear Welcome In Your Eye, Your Hand, Your Tongue: Look Like The Innocent Flower, But Be The Serpent Under't.

Men Should Be What They Seem.