That in the captains but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.

So. Lie there, my art.

To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth

I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say - I love you

Give it an understanding, but no tongue.

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.