Why, What Is Pomp, Rule,

Thy Food Is Such As Hath Been Belch'd On By Infected Lungs.

Time Is The Nurse And Breeder Of All Good.

Thou Shalt Be Free As Mountain Winds: But Then Exactly Do All Points Of My Command.

My Conscience Hath A Thousand Several Tongues, And Every Tongue Brings In A Several Tale, And Every Tale Condemns Me For A Villain. Perjury, Perjury, In The High'st Degree; Murder, Stern Murder In The Dir'st Degree, Throng To The Bar, Crying All, 'guilty!, Guilty!

How Use Doth Breed A Habit In A Man.