I Am Not In The Roll Of

[s]ince Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit, And Tediousness The Limbs And Outward Flourishes, I Will Be Brief.

There Is A River In Macedon, And There Is Moreover A River In Monmouth. It Is Called Wye At Monmouth, But It Is Out Of My Prains What Is The Name Of The Other River; But 'tis All One, 'tis Alike As My Fingers Is To My Fingers, And There Is Salmons In Both.

O Death, Made Proud With Pure And Princely Beauty!

Muster Your Wits; Stand In Your Own Defence.

How Many Cowards Whose Hearts Are All As False As Stairs Of Sand, Wear Yet Upon Their Chins The Beards Of Hercules And Frowning Mars, Who Inward Searched, Have Livers White As Milk!