All The World's A Stage, And All

When Workmen Strive To Do Better Than Well, They Do Confound Their Skill In Covetousness.

Love's Mind Of Judgment Rarely Hath A Taste: Wings And No Eyes Figure Unheedy Haste.

Praising What Is Lost Makes The Remembrance Dear

I Wish My Horse Had The Speed Of Your Tongue.

Sorrow Breaks Seasons And Reposing Hours, Makes The Night Morning, And The Noontide Night.