You Speak An Infinite Deal Of Nothing.

Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety.

Ring The Alarum-bell! Blow, Wind! Come, Wrack! At Least We'll Die With Harness On Our Back.

Blow, Winds, And Crack Your Cheeks! Rage! Blow! You Cataracts And Hurricanoes, Spout Till You Have Drenched Our Teeples, Drowned The Cocks! You Sulphurour And Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-couriers To Oak-cleaving Thunderbolts, Singe My White Head! And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Molds, All Germens Spill At Once That Make Ingrateful Man!

Of One That Lov'd Not Wisely But Too Well.

My Stronger Guilt Defeats My Strong Intent.