Every True Man's Apparel Fits Your Thief.

Pray, Love, Remember: And There Is Pansies, That's For Thoughts.

By Heaven, I Do Love: And It Hath Taught Me To Rhyme, And To Be Mekancholy.

All Things That Are, Are With More Spirit Chased Than Enjoyed.

O God, I Could Be Bound In A Nutshell, And Count Myself A King Of Infinite Space – Were It Not That I Have Bad Dreams.

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