Conversation Should Be Pleasant Without

I Pray You, In Your Letters, When You Shall These Unlucky Deeds Relate, Speak Of Me As I Am; Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice. Then Must You Speak Of One That Loved Not Wisely But Too Well; Of One Not Easily Jealous, But Being Wrought, Perplexed In The Extreme. . .

I Do The Wrong, And First Begin To Brawl. The Secret Mischiefs That I Set Abroach I Lay Unto The Grievous Charge Of Others.

A Hit, A Very Palpable Hit.

The Urging Of That Word, Judgment, Hath Bred A Kind Of Remorse In Me.

Fortune Brings In Some Boats That Are Not Steered.