Why, This Hath Not A Finger's Dignity.

What Time Hath Scanted Men In Hair, He Hath Given Them In Wit.

This Rough Magic I Here Abjure And When I Have Required Some Heavenly Music, Which Even Now I Do, To Work Mine End Upon Their Senses That This Airy Charm Is For, I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book.

I Thought My Heart Had Been Wounded With The Claws Of A Lion.

God Shall Be My Hope, My Stay, My Guide And Lantern To My Feet.

There Are No Tricks In Plain And Simple Faith.