To Go To Bed After Midnight Is

That Affable Familiar Ghost Which Nightly Gulls Him With Intelligence.

For Mercutio's Soul Is But A Little Way Above Our Heads, Staying For Thine To Keep Him Company: Either Thou, Or I, Or Both, Must Go With Him.

Keep Up Your Bright Swords, For The Dew Will Rust Them.

O, Here Will I Set Up My Everlasting Rest And Shake The Yoke Of Inauspicious Stars From The World-wearied Flesh

This Fell Sergeant, Death, Is Strict In His Arrest.