What A Piece Of Work Is A

After Life's Fitful Fever He Sleeps Well. Treason Has Done His Worst. Nor Steel Nor Poison, Malice Domestic, Foreign Levy, Nothing Can Touch Him Further.

There Lives Within The Very Flame Of Love A Kind Of Wick Or Snuff That Will Abate It.

There's Hope A Great Man's Memory May Outlive His Life Half A Year.

Thy Words, I Grant Are Bigger, For I Wear Not, My Dagger In My Mouth.

By Innocence I Swear, And By My Youth, I Have One Heart, One Bosom, And One Truth, And That No Woman Has, Nor Never None Shall Mistress Be Of It Save I Alone.