Good Reasons Must Of Force Give Place

Merrily, Merrily Shall I Live Now, Under The Blossom That Hangs On The Bough.

O World, World! Thus Is The Poor Agent Despised. O Traitors And Bawds, How Earnestly Are You Set A-work, And How Ill Requited! Why Should Our Endeavor Be So Loved, And The Performance So Loathed?

Wrong Hath But Wrong, And Blame The Due Of Blame.

I Hate Ingratitude More In A Man Than Lying, Vainness, Babbling, Drunkenness, Or Any Taint Of Vice Whose Strong Corruption Inhabits Our Frail Blood".

When I Waked, I Cried To Dream Again