O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
Come not within the measure of my wrath.
O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.
I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.