Silence Is The Perfect Herald

Conversation Should Be Pleasant Without Scurrility, Witty Without Affectation, Free Without Indecency, Learned Without Conceitedness, Novel Without Falsehood.

Lords, I Protest My Soul Is Full Of Woe That Blood Should Sprinkle Me To Make Me Grow. Come, Mourn With Me For What I Do Lament, And Put Sullen Black Incontinent. I'll Make A Voyage To The Holy Land To Wash This Blood Off From My Guilty Hand. March Sadly After. Grace My Mournings Here In Weeping After This Untimely Bier.

Thou Art The Mars Of Malcontents.

For In The Fatness Of These Pursy Times Virtue Itself Of Vice Must Pardon Beg.

Demetrius Relent, Sweet Hermia: And, Lysander, Yield Thy Crazed Title To My Certain Right. Lysander You Have Her Father's Love, Demetrius; Let Me Have Hermia's: Do You Marry Him.