As In A Theatre, The

Ay, But To Die And Go We Know Not Where; To Lie In Cold Obstrution And To Rot; This Sensible Warm Motion To Become A Kneaded Clod; And The Delighted Spirit To Bathe In Fiery Floods Or To Reside In Thrilling Regions Of Thick-ribbed Ice; To Be Imprison'd In The Viewless Winds, And Blown With Restless Violence Round About The Pendant World.

How Much Better Is It To Weep At Joy Than To Joy At Weeping?

Gloucester, We Have Done Deeds Of Charity, Made Peace Of Enmity, Fair Love Of Hate, Between These Swelling Wrong-incensed Peers.

How Sweet The Moonlight Sleeps Upon This Bank Here We Will Sit, And Let The Sounds Of Music Creep In Our Ears; Soft Stillness, And The Night Become The Touches Of Sweet Harmony

He's Truly Valiant That Can Wisely Suffer The Worst That Man Can Breathe, And Make His Wrongs His Outsides, To Wear Them Like His Raiment, Carelessly, And Ne'er Prefer His Injuries To His Heart, To Bring It Into Danger.