Though This Be Madness, Yet There Is

Eye Of Newt, And Toe Of Frog, Wool Of Bat, And Tongue Of Dog, Adder's Fork, And Blind-worm's Sting, Lizard's Leg, And Owlet's Wing, For A Charm Of Powerful Trouble, Like A Hell-broth Boil And Bubble.

That Thou Art Blamed Shall Not Be Thy Defect, For Slander's Mark Was Ever Yet The Fair; The Ornament Of Beauty Is Suspect, A Crow That Flies In Heaven's Sweetest Air.

Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit Than A Christian Or An Ordinary Man Has; But I Am A Great Eater Of Beef, And I Believe That Does Harm To My Wit.

Fie, Fie Upon Her! There's Language In Her Eye, Her Cheek, Her Lip, Nay, Her Foot Speaks; Her Wanton Spirits Look Out At Every Joint And Motive Of Her Body.

Good God, The Souls Of All My Tribe Defend From Jealousy!