Thou Detestable Maw, Thou Womb Of Death.

Devoutly To Be Wish'd. To Die, To Sleep; To Sleep, Perchance To Dream—for In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come,when We Have Shuffled Off This Mortal Coil, Must Give Us Pause, There's The Respect, That Makes Calamity Of So Long Life

To Business That We Love We Rise Betime, And Go To't With Delight.

Give To A Gracious Message An Host Of Tongues, But Let Ill Tidings Tell Themselves When They Be Felt.

Let No Such Man Be Trusted.

Many A Man's Tongue Shakes Out His Master's Undoing.