The First Thing We Do,

I Wish You All The Joy That You Can Wish.

Death Lies On Her Like An Untimely Frost.

A Happy Ending Cannot Come In The Middle Of The Story

When Heaven Doth Weep, Doth Not The Earth O'erflow? If The Winds Rage, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threatening The Welkin With His Big-swollen Face?

I Must To The Barber's, Monsieur, For Methinks I Am Marvellous Hairy About The Face.