O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.

O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!

Do all men kill the things they do not love ............ The quality of mercy is not strain'd It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest It blesseth him that gives and him that takes

Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?

Barnes are blessings.

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