Nature Hath Framed Strange Fellows In Her

We Wound Our Modesty And Make Foul The Clearness Of Our Deservings, When Of Ourselves We Publish Them.

So They Loved As Love In Twain Had The Essence But In One; Two Distinct, Divisions None.

Virtue That Transgresses Is But Patched With Sin; And Sin That Amends Is But Patched With Virtue.

I Must Be Cruel, Only To Be Kind.

Most Dear Actors, Eat No Onions Nor Garlic, For We Are To Utter Sweet Breath.