The Readiness Is All.

O Sleep! O Gentle Sleep! Nature's Soft Nurse, How Have I Frighted Thee, That Thou No More Wilt Weigh My Eyelids Down And Steep My Senses In Forgetfulness? Why Rather, Sleep, Liest Thou In Smoky Cribs, Upon Uneasy Pallets Stretching Thee, And Hush'd With Buzzing Night-flies To Thy Slumber, Than In The Perfum'd Chambers Of The Great, Under The Canopies Of Costly State, And Lull'd With Sound Of Sweetest Melody?

What's Done Is Done. The Joy Is In The Doing.

The Miserable Have No Other Medicine But Only Hope.

Give Me To Drink Mandragora.

Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest Fell. Though All Things Foul Would Wear The Brows Of Grace, Yet Grace Must Still Look So.