Give me to drink mandragora.
Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
Never anything can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it.
Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, but graciously to know I am no better.
I had as lief have been myself alone.