Many A Good Hanging Prevents A Bad

Plutus Himself, That Knows The Tinct And Multiplying Med'cine, Hath Not In Nature's Mystery More Science Than I Have In This Ring.

Go, Write It In A Martial Hand; Be Curst And Brief; It Is No Matter How Witty, So It Be Eloquent And Fun Of Invention: Taunt Him With The Licence Of Ink: If Thou Thou'st Him Some Thrice, It Shall Not Be Amiss; And As Many Lies As Will Lie In Thy Shee.

How Long A Time Lies In One Little Word?

The Sweets We Wish For, Turn To Loathed Sours, Even In The Moment That We Call Them Ours.

O Madam, My Old Heart Is Cracked, It's Cracked!