A Cup Of Hot Wine

Where Civil Blood Makes Civil Hands Unclean

What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

It Is To Be All Made Of Fantasy, All Made Of Passion And All Made Of Wishes, All Adoration, Duty, And Observance, All Humbleness, All Patience And Impatience, All Purity, All Trial, All Observance

So Doth The Greater Glory Dim The Less: A Substitute Shines Brightly As A King Until A King Be By.

That Strain Again! It Had A Dying Fall: O, It Came O'er My Ear Like The Sweet Sound That Breathes Upon A Bank Of Violets, Stealing And Giving Odour! Enough; No More: 'tis Not So Sweet As It Was Before.