To Some Kind Of Men Their Graces

As I Love The Name Of Honour More Than I Fear Death.

Set Honour In One Eye And Death I' The Other, And I Will Look On Both Indifferently.

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

The Native Hue Of Resolution Is Sicklied O'er With The Pale Cast Of Thought; And Enterprises Of Great Pitch And Moment, With This Regard, Their Currents Turn Awry, And Lose The Name Of Action.

Words Spoken Can Not Be Recalled So Think Twice Before You Speak.