A Rotten Case Abides No Handling.

If Love Be Blind, Love Cannot Hit The Mark

I Am Not Yet Of Percy's Mind, The Hotspur Of The North; He That Kills Me Some Six Or Seven Dozen Of Scots As A Breakfast, Washes His Hands, And Says To His Wife, 'fie Upon This Quiet Life! I Want Work.

Be Bloody, Bold, And Resolute; Laugh To Scorn The Power Of Man.

Tomorrow, And Tomorrow, And Tomorrow,creeps In This Petty Pace From Day To Day

Let Husbands Know Their Wives Have Sense Like Them. They See, And Smell, And Have Their Palates Both For Sweet And Sour, As Husbands Have.