What's In A Name? That Which We

But Now I Am Cabined, Cribbed, Confined, Bound In To Saucy Doubts And Fears.

Keep Time! How Sour Sweet Music Is When Time Is Broke And No Proportion Kept! So Is It In The Music Of Men's Lives. I Wasted Time And Now Doth Time Waste Me.

Let Us Sit And Mock The Good Housewife Fortune From Her Wheel, That Her Gifts May Henceforth Be Bestowed Equally, I Would We Could Do So For Her Benefits Are Mightily Misplaced And The Bountiful Blind Girl Doth Most Mistake In Her Gifts To Women. 'tis True For Those That She Makes Fair She Scarce Makes Honest And Those That She Makes Honest She Makes Very Ill-favouredly. Nay, Now Thou Goest From Fortunes Office To Natures. Fortune Reigns In Gifts Of The World, Not In The Lineaments Of Nature.

Wherefore Was I To This Keen Mockery Born? When At Your Hands Did I Deserve This Scorn? Is't Not Enough, Is't Not Enough, Young Man, That I Did Never, No, Nor Never Can, Deserve A Sweet Look From Demetrius' Eye, But You Must Flout My Insufficiency?

Time Is Like A Fashionable Host That Slightly Shakes His Parting Guest By The Hand, And With His Arm Outstretch'd, As He Would Fly, Grasps In The Comer.