Hal, If I Tell Thee A Lie,

I Could A Tale Unfold Whose Lightest Word Would Harrow Up Thy Soul, Freeze Thy Young Blood, Make Thy Two Eyes Like Stars Start From Their Spheres, Thy Knotted And Combined Locks To Part, And Each Particular Hair To Stand On End Like Quills Upon The Fretful Porpentine. But This Eternal Blazon Must Not Be To Ears Of Flesh And Blood. List, List, O List!

I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of Humility.

Nature Hath Meal And Bran, Contempt And Grace.

If It Will Feed Nothing Else, It Will Feed My Revenge.

O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? Deny Thy Father And Refuse Thy Name; Or, If Thou Wilt Not, Be But Sworn My Love... 'tis But Thy Name That Is My Enemy; What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.