There's Many A Man Hath More Hair

Light Vanity, Insatiate Cormorant, Consuming Means, Soon Preys Upon Itself.

For Brutus Is An Honourable Man; So Are They All, All Honourable Men.

I Think The King Is But A Man As I Am: The Violet Smells To Him As It Doth To Me.

For Never Was A Story Of More Woe Than This Of Juliet And Her Romeo.

I Could A Tale Unfold Whose Lightest Word Would Harrow Up Thy Soul, Freeze Thy Young Blood, Make Thy Two Eyes Like Stars Start From Their Spheres, Thy Knotted And Combined Locks To Part, And Each Particular Hair To Stand On End Like Quills Upon The Fretful Porpentine. But This Eternal Blazon Must Not Be To Ears Of Flesh And Blood. List, List, O List!