I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book

Foolery, Sir, Does Walk About The Orb Like The Sun; It Shines Everywhere.

Hast Any Philosophy In Thee Shepherd? .• • • • . . . He That Wants Money, Means And Content, Is Without Three Good Friends; That The Property Of Rain Is To Wet And Fire To Burn; That Good Pasture Makes Fat Sheep, And A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun; That He That Hath Learned No Wit By Nature Nor Art May Complain Of Good Breeding Or Comes Of A Very Dull Kindred.

If She Lives Till Doomsday, She'll Burn A Week Longer Than The Whole World.

All The World's A Stage, And All The Men And Women Mearly Players.

So Far Be Distant; And Good Night, Sweet Friend: Thy Love Ne'er Alter, Till They Sweet Life End