Good God, The Souls Of

O, Swear Not By The Moon, The Fickle Moon, The Inconstant Moon, That Monthly Changes In Her Circle Orb, Lest That Thy Love Prove Likewise Variable

When Faced With A Sea Of Troubles, Take Action, And In So Doing End It.

Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit.

To You Your Father Should Be As A God; One That Composed Your Beauties, Yea, And One To Whom You Are But As A Form In Wax, By Him Imprinted, And Within His Power To Leave The Figure Or Disfigure It.

The Quality Of Mercy Is Not Strained