My wits begin to turn.

With caution judge of probability. Things deemed unlikely, e'en impossible, experience oft hath proved to be true.

A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, Arrested by the holy close of lips, Strength'ned by the interchangement of your rings, And all the ceremony of this compact Seal'd in my function, by my testimony.

My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.

Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon

So well thy words become thee as thy wounds.

In jest, there is truth.