Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The

Why, Universal Plodding Poisons Up The Nimble Spirits In The Arteries, As Motion And Long-during Action Tires The Sinewy Vigor Of The Traveller.

One Man In His Time Plays Many Parts.

Methinks A Father Is At The Nuptial Of His Son A Guest That Best Becomes The Table.

Your Face, My Thane, Is As A Book Where Men May Read Strange Matters. To Beguile The Time, Look Like The Time; Bear Welcome In Your Eye, Your Hand, Your Tongue: Look Like The Innocent Flower, But Be The Serpent Under't.

Why Should We Rise Because 'tis Light? Did We Lie Down Because T'was Night?