The Small Amount Of Foolery

I Was Born Free As Caesar; So Were You

Every Fair From Fair Sometime Declines

The Eye Of Man Hath Not Heard, The Ear Of Man Hath Not Seen, Man's Hand Is Not Able To Taste, His Tongue To Conceive, Nor His Heart To Report, What My Dream Was.

Sorrow Breaks Seasons And Reposing Hours, Makes The Night Morning, And The Noontide Night.

Rich Gifts Wax Poor When Givers Prove Unkind.