Ah Me, How Weak A

Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

I Hold The World But As The World, Gratiano!

Unless The Old Adage Must Be Verified, That Beggars Mounted, Run Their Horse To Death.

I Will Not Be Sworn But Love May Transform Me To An Oyster

So Well Thy Words Become Thee As Thy Wounds.