My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.

And how his audit stands who knows, save Heaven?

Words spoken can not be recalled so think twice before you speak.

We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed.

We know what we are, but know not what we may be.

O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!

Nor age so eat up my invention.