You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.
Love hath made thee a tame snake
Then happy I that love and am beloved, where I may not remove nor be removed.
You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty!
We are such stuff that dreams are made of.
It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance