Brutus, I Do Observe You Now Of

Discharge My Followers; Let Them Hence Away, From Richard's Night To Bolingbrooke's Fair Day.

Love Is A Smoke Raised With The Fume Of Sighs; Being Purged, A Fire Sparkling In Lovers' Eyes; Being Vexed, A Sea Nourished With Loving Tears. What Is It Else? A Madness Most Discreet, A Choking Gall, And A Preserving Sweet. *here’s What Love Is: A Smoke Made Out Of Lovers' Sighs. When The Smoke Clears, Love Is A Fire Burning In Your Lover’s Eyes. If You Frustrate Love, You Get An Ocean Made Out Of Lovers' Tears. What Else Is Love? It’s A Wise Form Of Madness. It’s A Sweet Lozenge That You Choke On.*

All Of Creation’s A Farce. Man Was Born As A Joke. In His Head His Reason Is Buffeted Like Wind-blown Smoke. Life Is A Game. Everyone Ridicules Everyone Else. But He Who Has The Last Laugh Laughs Longest.

I Have A Kind Soul That Would Give You Thanks. And Knows Not How To Do It But With Tears.

Come, Let's Have One Other Gaudy Night. Call To Me All My Sad Captains. Fill Our Bowls Once More. Let's Mock The Midnight Bell.