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O,That This Too,Too Solid Flesh Would Melt
O All You Host of Heaven!O Earth!What Else?
O,What a Rogue and Peasant Slave Am I !
I Will Tell You Why:So Shall My Anticipation Prevent Your Discovery
To Be or Not to Be:That is the Question
How All Occasions do Inform Against Me
What is He Whose Grief Bears Such an Emphasis?
What Lady is That,Which Doth Enrich the Hand
He Jests at Scars That Never Felt a Wound
Wilt Thou be Gone? It is Not Yet Near Day
Thou Detestable Maw,Thou Wom of Death
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