Youth To Itself Rebels, Though

A Thousand Moral Paintings I Can Show That Shall Demonstrate These Quick Blows Of Fortune's More Pregnantly Than Words.

If One Good Deed In All My Life I Did, I Do Repent It From My Very Soul.

Enough No More; Tis Not So Sweet Now As It Was Before.

There's Many A Man Hath More Hair Than Wit.

Would It Not Grieve A Woman To Be Over-mastered By A Piece Of Valiant Dust? To Make An Account Of Her Life To A Clod Of Wayward Marle?