On The Bat’s Back I

Yes, Faith; It Is My Cousin's Duty To Make Curtsy And Say 'father, As It Please You.' But Yet For All That, Cousin, Let Him Be A Handsome Fellow, Or Else Make Another Curtsy And Say 'father, As It Please Me.

All The World's A Stage.

Poor Desdemona! I Am Glad Thy Father's Dead. Thy Match Was Mortal To Him, And Pure Grief Shore His Old Thread In Twain.

The Moon Of Rome, Chaste As The Icicle That's Curded By The Frost From Purest Snow.

Women May Fail When There Is No Strength In Man