Sweetest Nut Hath Sourest Rind.

O Death, Made Proud With Pure And Princely Beauty!

Cannot You Tell That? Every Fool Can Tell That. It Was The Very Day That Young Hamlet Was Born, He That Is Mad And Sent Into England." "ay, Marry, Why Was He Sent Into England?" "why, Because He Was Mad. He Shall Recover His Wits There, Or, If He Do Not, It's No Great Matter There." "why?" "'twill Not Be Seen In Him There. There The Men Are As Mad As He.

We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On; And Our Little Life Is Rounded With A Sleep.

In Sweet Music Is Such Art: Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

Fall Greeks; Fail Fame; Honour Or Go Or Stay; My Major Vow Lies Here, This I'll Obey.