The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows

So Will I Turn Her Virtue Into Pitch, And Out Of Her Own Goodness Make The Net That Shall Enmesh Them All.

My Liege, And Madam, To Expostulate What Majesty Should Be, What Duty Is, Why Day Is Day, Night Night, And Time Is Time, Were Nothing But To Waste Night, Day And Time. Therefore, Since Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit, And Tediousness The Limbs And Outward Flourishes, I Will Be Brief.

Men Must Endure Their Going Hence, Even As Their Coming Hither. Ripeness Is All.

O Wonderful, Wonderful, And Most Wonderful Wonderful! And Yet Again Wonderful, And After That, Out Of All Hooping.

Faith, There Hath Been Many Great Men That Have Flattered The People Who Ne'er Loved Them.