I must to the barber's, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.

But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live.

In nature there's no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.

Use almost can change the stamp of nature.

Say as you think and speak it from your souls.

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, Now am I fled; My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light; Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die, die.

This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.