Was Ever Woman In This Humour Wooed?

What We Determine We Often Break. Purpose Is But The Slave To Memory.

Romans, Countrymen, And Lovers, Hear Me For My Cause, And Be Silent, That You May Hear.

I Have Not Slept. Between The Acting Of A Dreadful Thing And The First Motion, All The Interim Is Like A Phantasma, Or A Hideous Dream: The Genius And The Mortal Instruments Are Then In Council; And The State Of Man, Like To A Little Kingdom, Suffers Then The Nature Of An Insurrection.

Tis Now The Very Witching Time Of Night, When Churchyards Yawn And Hell Itself Breathes Out Contagion To This World.

Love Is Begun By Time And Time Qualifies The Spark And Fire Of It.