Thou Art Most Rich, Being Poor; Most

Vaulting Ambition, Which O'erleaps Itself And Falls On The Other Side

Who Wooed In Haste, And Means To Wed At Leisure.

Bassanio: Do All Men Kill All The Things They Do Not Love? Shylock: Hates Any Man The Thing He Would Not Kill? Bassanio: Every Offence Is Not A Hate At First.

There Is A Willow Grows Aslant A Brook, That Shows His Hoar Leaves In The Glassy Stream; There With Fantastic Garlands Did She Come Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, And Long Purples That Liberal Shepherds Give A Grosser Name, But Our Cold Maids Do Dead Men's Fingers Call Them: There, On The Pendent Boughs Her Coronet Weeds Clambering To Hang, An Envious Sliver Broke; When Down Her Weedy Trophies And Herself Fell In The Weeping Brook.

Sometimes, Less Is More.