April ... Hath Put A

Why, What Is Pomp, Rule, Reign, But Earth And Dust? And, Live We How We Can, Yet Die We Must.

You Cannot, Sir, Take From Me Any Thing That I Will More Willingly Part Withal: Except My Life, Except My Life, Except My Life.

Thou Hast Nor Youth Nor Age But As It Were An After Dinner Sleep Dreaming Of Both.

O Heaven! Were Man, But Constant, He Were Perfect.

Lay Not That Flattering Unction To Your Soul, That Not Your Trespass But My Madness Speaks.