Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For, those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Our faults are not seen, But past us; neither felt, but only in The punishment.

But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am my own executioner.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms, can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

We love and understand talent; we wish it be within us. The truly gifted, those exceptional few, must wait for the world to catch up.

To a large degree, since the beginning of time, charisma or the lack of it has impacted upon those in quest of acclaim. As media expands, this has become ever more vital. Thus, demeanor if unappealing, can defeat one's likelihood of success, causing the death of prospects whilst they are still embryonic.

How many times go we to comedies, to masques, to places of great and noble resort, nay even to church only to see the company.