Get Thee A Good Husband, And Use

Music Can Minister To Minds Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain, And With Its Sweet Oblivious Antidote, Cleanse The Full Bosom Of All Perilous Stuff That Weighs Upon The Heart.

I Hate The Murderer, Love Him Murdered.

I Thank You All And Here Dismiss You All, And To The Love And Favor Of My Country Commit Myself, My Person, And The Cause.

Do You Take Me For A Sponge, My Lord? Hamlet: Ay, Sir; That Soaks Up The King's Countenance, His Rewards, His Authorities. But Such Officers Do The King Best Service In The End: He Keeps Them, Like An Ape, In The Corner Of His Jaw; First Mouthed, To Be Last Swallowed: When He Needs What You Have Gleaned, It Is But Squeezing You, And, Sponge, You Shall Be Dry Again. Rosencrantz: I Understand You Not, My Lord. Hamlet: I Am Glad Of It: A Knavish Speech Sleeps In A Foolish Ear.

Tis The Eye Of Childhood That Fears A Painted Devil.