Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth

Thus Conscience Does Make Cowards Of Us All; And Thus The Native Hue Of Resolution Is Slicked O'er With The Pale Cast Of Thought

What, All So Soon Asleep! I Wish Mine Eyes Would, With Themselves, Shut Up My Thoughts.

To Fear The Foe, Since Fear Oppresseth Strength, Gives, In Your Weakness, Strength Unto Your Foe, And So Your Follies Fight Against Yourself. Fear, And Be Slain--so Worse Can Come To Fight; And Fight And Die Is Death Destroying Death, Where Fearing Dying Pays Death Servile Breath.

His Worst Fault Is, He's Given To Prayer; He Is Something Peevish That Way.

The Love Of Heaven Makes One Heavenly.