Where Civil Blood Makes Civil Hands Unclean

He Is Well Paid That Is Well Satisfied.

We Will Meet; And There We May Rehearse Most Obscenely And Courageously.

The Iron Tongue Of Midnight Hath Told Twelve Lovers, To Bed; 'tis Almost Fairy Time. I Fear We Shall Outstep The Coming Morn As Much As We This Night Over-watch'd.

Come, Lady, Die To Live.

To Be, Or Not To Be, That Is The Question.