Let The End Try The Man.

Now, My Masters, Happy Man Be His Dole, Say I; Every Man To His Business.

O, Thou Hast Damnable Iteration; And Art, Indeed, Able To Corrupt A Saint.

Bad Is The Trade That Must Play Fool To Sorrow, Ang'ring Itself And Others.

For Brutus, As You Know, Was Caesar's Angel: Judge, O You Gods, How Dearly Caesar Loved Him! This Was The Most Unkindest Cut Of All

The Rain, It Raineth Every Day.