I May Command Where I Adore.

Some Smack Of Age In You, Some Relish Of The Saltness Of Time.

An Arrant Traitor As Any Is In The Universal World, Or In France, Or In England.

He Knows What It's Like To Strut And Fret His Hour Upon The Stage And Then Be Heard No More.

The Rarer Action Is In Virtue Than In Vengeance.

Devoutly To Be Wish'd. To Die, To Sleep; To Sleep, Perchance To Dream—for In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come,when We Have Shuffled Off This Mortal Coil, Must Give Us Pause, There's The Respect, That Makes Calamity Of So Long Life