France Is A Dog-hole, And It No

Quince Francis Flute, The Bellows-mender. Flute Here, Peter Quince. Quince Flute, You Must Take Thisby On You. Flute What Is Thisby? A Wandering Knight? Quince It Is The Lady That Pyramus Must Love. Flute Nay, Faith, Let Me Not Play A Woman; I Have A Beard Coming.

In Nature There's No Blemish But The Mind. None Can Be Called Deformed But The Unkind.

Princes Have But Their Titles For Their Glories, An Outward Honor For An Inward Toil; And, For Unfelt Imaginations, They Often Feel A World Of Restless Cares.

When You Do Dance, I Wish You A Wave O' The Sea, That You Might Ever Do Nothing But That.

Tis Beauty That Doth Oft Make Women Proud; But, God He Knows, Thy Share Thereof Is Small.