How Much An Ill Word May Empoison

And Therefore Is Love Said To Be A Child, Because In Choice He Is So Oft Beguil'd

I Pray Thee Cease Thy Counsel, Which Falls Into Mine Ears As Profitless As Water In A Sieve.

The Lowest Ebb Is The Turn Of The Tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of.

You May My Glories And My State Depose, But Not My Griefes; Still Am I King Of Those.

Look, What Envious Streaks Do Lace The Severing Clouds In Yonder East! Night's Candles Are Burnt Out, And Jocund Day Stands Tip-toe On The Misty Mountain-tops.