He Hath Eaten Me Out Of House

To Bed, To Bed; Sleep Kill Those Pretty Eyes, And Give As Soft Attachment To Thy Senses, As Infants Empty Of All Thought.

What Many Men Desire--that 'many' May Be Meant By The Fool Multitude That Choose By Show, Not Learning More Than The Fond Eye Doth Teach, Which Pries Not To Th' Interior, But Like The Martlet Builds In The Weather On The Outward Wall, Even In The Force And Road Of Casualty.

Words Pay No Debts, Give Her Deeds.

When That The Poor Have Cried, Caesar Hath Wept: Ambition Should Be Made Of Sterner Stuff: Yet Brutus Says He Was Ambitious; And Brutus Is An Honourable Man.

I Feel It Gone, Yet Know Not When It Left.