To England Will I Steal, And There

Lay On, Mcduff, And Be Damned He Who First Cries, 'hold, Enough!

The Quality Of Mercy Is Not Strained

Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

They Have A Plentiful Lack Of Wit.

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Ey'd, Such Seems Your Beauty Still.