Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once

I Do Honor The Very Flea Of His Dog.

For He That Once Is Good, Is Ever Great.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause, Delight, The Wonder Of Our Stage! My Shakespeare , Rise; I Will Not Lodge Thee By Chaucer Or Spenser , Or Bid Beaumont Lie A Little Further, To Make Thee A Room; Thou Art A Monument, Without A Tomb, And Art Alive Still, While Thy Book Doth Live, And We Have Wits To Read , And Praise To Give .

If You Be Sick, Your Own Thoughts Make You Sick

When A Virtuous Man Is Raised, It Brings Gladness To His Friends, Grief To His Enemies, And Glory To His Posterity.