To Kill, I Grant, Is Sin's Extremest

Headstrong Liberty Is Lashed With Woe.

Show Me A Mistress That Is Passing Fair, What Doth Her Beauty Serve But As A Note Where I May Read Who Pass'd That Passing Fair?

It Easeth Some, Though None It Ever Cured, To Think Their Dolour Others Have Endured.

Now All The Youth Of England Are On Fire, And Silken Dalliance In The Wardrobe Lies; Now Thrive The Armorers, And Honor's Thought Reigns Solely In The Breast Of Every Man.

Polonius: Do You Know Me, My Lord? Hamlet: Excellent Well. You Are A Fishmonger.