'tis Not Enough To Help The Feeble

I Do Not Seek To Quench Your Love's Hot Fire, But Qualify The Fire's Extreme Rage, Lest It Should Burn Above The Bounds Of Reason.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

But To My Mind, Though I Am Native Here, And To The Manner Born, It Is A Custom, More Honored In The Breach Than The Observance.

Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say!

Now Get You To My Lady's Chamber, And Tell Her, Let Her Paint An Inch Thick, To This Favour She Must Come; Make Her Laugh At That.