What E'er Thou Art, Act Well Thy

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand? Come, Let Me Clutch Thee. I Have Thee Not, And Yet I See Thee Still. Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feeling As To Sight? Or Art Thou But A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?

Kindness Nobler Ever Than Revenge.

The Eagle Suffers Little Birds To Sing, And Is Not Careful What They Mean Thereby, Knowing That With The Shadow Of His Wings He Can At Pleasure Stint Their Melody: Even So Mayest Thou The Giddy Men Of Rome.

Discuss Unto Me: Art Thou Officer, Or Art Thou Base, Common, And Popular?

Here, Thou Incestuous, Murderous, Damned Dane, Drink Off This Potion!