For My Part, If A

Against Self-slaughter There Is A Prohibition So Divine That Cravens My Weak Hand.

Why, Then The World ’s Mine Oyster, Which I With Sword Will Open.

They May Seize On The White Wonder Of Dear Juliet's Hand And Steal Immortal Blessing From Her Lips, Who, Even In Pure And Vestal Modesty, Still Blush, As Thinking Their Own Kisses Sin.

Many A True Word Hath Been Spoken In Jest.

There's A Divinity That Shapes Our Ends, Rough-hew Them How We Will.