What Sadness Lengthens Romeo’s Hours?

I Was Born Free As Caesar; So Were You

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself, Nor Is Not Moved With Concord Of Sweet Sounds, Is Fit For Treasons, Stratagems And Spoils.

Men Are April When They Woo, December When They Wed.

'tis Thought The King Is Dead; We Will Not Stay. The Bay Trees In Our Country Are All Wither'd.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.