Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever
Memory, the warder of the brain.
An old black ram is tupping your white ewe
The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.