If I Be Waspish, Best Beware My

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

What Showers Arise, Blown With The Windy Tempest Of My Heart

And Keep You In The Rear Of Your Affection, Out Of The Shot And Danger Of Desire, The Chariest Maid Is Prodigal Enough If She Unmasks Her Beauty To The Moon.

Drink Down All Unkindness.

He Hath Not Eat Paper, As It Were; He Hath Not Drunk Ink; His Intellect Is Not Replenished; He Is Only An Animal, Only Sensible In The Duller Parts. (shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, Iv)