There Is A Devilish Mercy In The

The Eyes Are The Window To Your Soul

Shine Out Fair Sun, Till I Have Bought A Glass, That I May See My Shadow As I Pass.

Quote: What Angel Wakes Me From My Flowery Bed?

O, That This Too Too Solid Flesh Would Melt Thaw And Resolve Itself Into A Dew! Or That The Everlasting Had Not Fix'd His Canon 'gainst Self-slaughter! O God! God! How Weary, Stale, Flat And Unprofitable, (135) Seem To Me All The Uses Of This World! Fie On't! Ah Fie! 'tis An Unweeded Garden, That Grows To Seed; Things Rank And Gross In Nature Possess It Merely. That It Should Come To This! But Two Months Dead: Nay, Not So Much, Not Two: (140) So Excellent A King; That Was, To This.

He Jests At Scars That Never Felt A Wound.