...lest Too Light Winning Make The Prize

If She Be Not Honest, Chaste, And True, There's No Man Happy.

It Is A Tale Told By An Idiot, Full Of Sound And Fury; Signifying Nothing.

Music, Moody Food Of Us That Trade In Love.

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory, This Most Excellent Canopy, The Air, Look You, This Brave O'erhanging Firmament, This Majestical Roof Fretted With Golden Fire, Why, It Appears No Other Thing To Me Than A Foul And Pestilent Congregation Of Vapours. What A Piece Of Work Is A Man! How Noble In Reason! How Infinite In Faculty! In Form And Moving How Express And Admirable! In Action How Like An Angel! In Apprehension How Like A God! The Beauty Of The World! The Paragon Of Animals! And Yet, To Me, What Is This Quintessence Of Dust?

Besides, Our Nearness To The King In Love Is Near The Hate Of Those Love Not The King.