The Hebrew Will Turn Christian; He Grows

Things At The Worst Will Cease Or Else Climb Upward To What They Were Before.

Romeo There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murders In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell. I Sell Thee Poison; Thou Hast Sold Me None. Farewell: Buy Food, And Get Thyself In Flesh. Come, Cordial And Not Poison, Go With Me To Juliet's Grave; For There Must I Use Thee.

So Weary With Disasters, Tugg'd With Fortune, That I Would Set My Life On Any Chance, To Mend, Or Be Rid On't.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

Every Why Hath A Wherefore.