Let him smell his way to Dover!

If all the year were playing holidays; To sport would be as tedious as to work.

Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.

Good things should be praised.

These signs have marked me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men.

Then others for breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.