It Hurts Not The Tongue To Give

Never Durst Poet Touch A Pen To Write Until His Ink Were Temper'd With Love's Sighs.

No Might Nor Greatness In Mortality Can Censure 'scape; Back- Wounding Calumny The Whitest Virtue Strikes. What King So Strong Can Tie The Gall Up In The Slanderous Tongue?

A Miracle. Here's Our Own Hands Against Our Hearts. Come, I Will Have Thee, But By This Light I Take Thee For Pity. Beatrice: I Would Not Deny You, But By This Good Day, I Yield Upon Great Persuasion, And Partly To Save Your Life, For I Was Told You Were In A Consumption. Benedick: Peace. I Will Stop Your Mouth.

Light, Seeking Light, Doth Light Of Light Beguile

Avaunt, You Cullions!