Thou Shouldst Not Have Been Old Till

Why, Friends, You Go To Do You Know Not What: Wherein Hath Caesar Thus Deserved Your Loves? Alas, You Know Not: I Must Tell You Then: You Have Forgot The Will I Told You Of. . . . . Here Is The Will, And Under Caesar's Seal. To Every Roman Citizen He Gives, To Every Several Man, Seventy-five Drachmas. . . . . Moreover, He Hath Left You All His Walks, His Private Arbours And New-planted Orchards, On This Side Tiber; He Hath Left Them You, And To Your Heirs For Ever, Common Pleasures, To Walk Abroad, And Recreate Yourselves. Here Was A Caesar! When Comes Such Another?

I Think Thy Horse Will Sooner Con An Oration Than Thou Learn A Prayer Without Book.

Antonio: Will You Stay No Longer? Nor Will You Not That I Go With You? Sebastian: By Your Patience, No. My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me; The Malignancy Of My Fate Might, Perhaps, Distemper Yours; Therefore I Shall Crave Of You Your Leave That I May Bear My Evils Alone. It Were A Bad Recompense For Your Love To Lay Any Of Them On You.

Tell Me Where Is Fancy Bred, Or In The Heart, Or In The Head? How Begot, How Nourished? Reply, Reply. It Is Engend'red In The Eyes, With Gazing Fed, And Fancy Dies In The Cradle Where It Lies.

There Are More Things In Heaven And Earth, Horatio, Than Are Dreamt Of In Your Philosophy.