Base Is The Slave That Pays.

And By That Destiny To Perform An Act Whereof What's Past Is Prologue, What To Come In Yours And My Discharge.

But Fish Not With This Melancholy Bait For This Fool Gudgeon, This Opinion.

And Yet, By Heaven, I Think My Love As Rare As Any She Belied With False Compare.

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

Et Tu Brute! (you Too, Brutus!)