O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.

If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

Give thy thoughts no tongue.

This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.

I am not bound to please thee with my answer.

Pride went before, ambition follows him.

There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.