Sleep Knits Up The Raveled Sleeve Of

The Coward Dies A Thousand Deaths, The Valiant, Only Once!

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!

Take Physic, Pomp; Expose Thyself To Feel What Wretches Feel, That Thou Mayst Shake The Superflux To Them And Show The Heavens More Just.

Your Wisdom Is Consum'd In Confidence. Do Not Go Forth To-day.

Life Is As Tedious As Twice-told Tale, Vexing The Dull Ear Of A Drowsy Man.