Would I Were In An Alehouse In

O Sleep! O Gentle Sleep! Nature's Soft Nurse.

What Is More Miserable Than Discontent?

Iago: She That Was Ever Fair And Never Proud, Had Tongue At Will And Yet Was Never Loud, Never Lack'd Gold And Yet Went Never Gay, Fled From Her Wish And Yet Said 'now I May,' She That Being Anger'd, Her Revenge Being Nigh, Bade Her Wrong Stay And Her Displeasure Fly, She That In Wisdom Never Was So Frail To Change The Cod's Head For The Salmon's Tail; She That Could Think And Ne'er Disclose Her Mind, See Suitors Following And Not Look Behind, She Was A Wight, If Ever Such Wight Were,-- Desdemona: To Do What? Iago: To Suckle Fools And Chronicle Small Beer.

Are You Sure/that We Are Awake? It Seems To Me/that Yet We Sleep, We Dream

The Lady Doth Protest Too Much, Methinks.