Love, Therefore, And Tongue-tied Simplicity In Least

My Free Drift Halts Not Particularly, But Moves Itself In A Wide Sea Of Wax; No Levelled Malice Infects One Comma In The Course I Hold, But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

I Am Your Wife If You Will Marry Me. If Not, I'll Die Your Maid. To Be Your Fellow You May Deny Me, But I'll Be Your Servant Whether You Will Or No.

There's No Trust, No Faith, No Honesty In Men; All Perjured, All Forsworn, All Naught, All Dissemblers.

Come Give Us A Taste Of Your Quality.