Infirm Of Purpose! Give Me The Daggers:

Give Thy Thoughts No Tongue, Nor Any Unproportioned Thought His Act. Be Thou Familiar But By No Means Vulgar.

Bloody Instructions, Which, Being Taught, Return To Plague The Inventor.

Oh, She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright! It Seems She Hangs Upon The Cheek Of Night Like A Rich Jewel In An Ethiope’s Ear, Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth Too Dear. So Shows A Snowy Dove Trooping With Crows As Yonder Lady O'er Her Fellows Shows. The Measure Done, I’ll Watch Her Place Of Stand, And, Touching Hers, Make Blessèd My Rude Hand. Did My Heart Love Till Now? Forswear It, Sight! For I Ne'er Saw True Beauty Till This Night.

It Is A Good Divine That Follows His Own Instructions.

Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever Thrust To The Walls.