O Sleep! O Gentle Sleep!

The Play's The Thing.

You Must Confine Yourself Within The Modest Limits Of Order.

Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall.

Hear Me Profess Sincerely: Had I A Dozen Sons, Each In My Love Alike, And None Less Dear Than Thine And My Good Marcius, I Had Rather Have Eleven Die Nobly For Their Country Than One Voluptuously Surfeit Out Of Action.

The Eagle Suffers Little Birds To Sing.