Scarce Can I Speak, My

O Ceremony, Show Me But Thy Worth? What Is Thy Soul Of Adoration? Art Thou Aught Else But Place, Degree, And Form, Creating Awe And Fear In Other Men?

Dost Thou Think, Because Thou Art Virtuous, There Shall Be No More Cakes And Ale?

We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On; And Our Little Life Is Rounded With A Sleep.

I Had As Lief Have Been Myself Alone.

Keep Time! How Sour Sweet Music Is When Time Is Broke And No Proportion Kept! So Is It In The Music Of Men's Lives. I Wasted Time And Now Doth Time Waste Me.