Thou Shouldst Not Have Been Old Till

O Helena, Goddess, Nymph, Perfect, Divine! To What, My Love, Shall I Compare Thine Eyne? Crystal Is Muddy. O, How Ripe In Show Thy Lips, Those Kissing Cherries, Tempting Grow!

All The World's A Stage, And All The Men And Women Merely Players: They Have Their Exits And Their Entrances; And One Man In His Time Plays Many Parts, His Acts Being Seven Ages.

Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall.

For Conspiracy, I Know Not How It Tastes, Though It Be Dished For Me To Try How.

Hope Is A Lover's Staff; Walk Hence With That And Manage It Against Despairing Thoughts.