Your Face Is A Book, Where Men

But To My Mind, Though I Am Native Here, And To The Manner Born, It Is A Custom, More Honored In The Breach Than The Observance.

Men Judge By The Complexion Of The Sky The State And Inclination Of The Day.

Look How The World's Poor People Are Amazed At Apparitions, Signs And Prodigies!

If You Be King, Why Should Not I Succeed?

And Sleep, That Sometime Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye, Steal Me Awhile From Mine Own Company.