In Time We Hate That Which We

What Wouldst Thou Do, Old Man? Think'st Thou That Duty Shall Have Dread To Speak When Power To Flattery Bows?

Women Are As Roses, Whose Fair Flower, Being Once Displayed, Doth Fall That Very Hour.

'tis Not To Make Me Jealous To Say My Wife Is Fair, Feeds Well, Loves Company, Is Free Of Speech, Sings, Plays, And Dances Well; Where Virtue Is, These Are More Virtuous.

Cowards Die Many Times Before Their Deaths; The Valiant Never Taste Of Death But Once. Of All The Wonders That I Yet Have Heard, It Seems To Me Most Strange That Men Should Fear; Seeing That Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come.

All The World Is A Stage And We Are Merely Players.