Friendship's Full Of Dregs.

Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say!

Thou Art All The Comfort, The Gods Will Diet Me With.

I Stalk About Her Door, Like A Strange Soul Upon The Stygian Banks Staying For Waftage.

Go, Write It In A Martial Hand; Be Curst And Brief; It Is No Matter How Witty, So It Be Eloquent And Fun Of Invention: Taunt Him With The Licence Of Ink: If Thou Thou'st Him Some Thrice, It Shall Not Be Amiss; And As Many Lies As Will Lie In Thy Shee.

Be Just, And Fear Not.