If It Were Done When

Our Remedies Oft In Ourselves Do Lie, Which We Ascribe To Heaven.

And In The Morn And Liquid Dew Of Youth, Contagious Blastments Are Are Most Imminent.

But, Indeed, Words Are Very Rascals, Since Bonds [vows] Disgraced Them." Viola: "thy Reason, Man?" Feste: "troth [truthfully], Sir, I Can Yield You None Without Words, And Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loathe To Prove Reason With Them.

A Maiden Hath No Tongue--but Thought.

Get Thee A Good Husband, And Use Him As He Uses Thee.