Prepare For Mirth, For Mirth Becomes A

Polonius: Do You Know Me, My Lord? Hamlet: Excellent Well. You Are A Fishmonger.

Alas, How Love Can Trifle With Itself!

We Fail! But Screw Your Courage To The Sticking-place, And We'll Not Fail.

Fairies, Black, Grey, Green, And White, You Moonshine Revellers, And Shades Of Night, You Orphan Heirs Of Fixed Destiny, Attend Your Office And Your Quality.

The Eye Of Man Hath Not Heard, The Ear Of Man Hath Not Seen, Man's Hand Is Not Able To Taste, His Tongue To Conceive, Nor His Heart To Report, What My Dream Was.