Best Men Oft Are Moulded Out Of

Daffodils, That Come Before The Swallow Dares, And Take The Winds Of March With Beauty.

Why, This Hath Not A Finger's Dignity.

Though Age From Folly Could Not Give Me Freedom, It Does From Childishness.

Hal, If I Tell Thee A Lie, Spit In My Face, Call Me Horse.

With Mirth And Laughter Let Old Wrinkles Come. And Let My Liver Rather Heat With Wine, Than My Heart Cool With Mortifying Groans.