He knows what it's like to strut and fret his hour upon the stage and then be heard no more.

O mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men!

Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.

Thyself shall see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.

For I am he am born to tame you, Kate; and bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate conformable as other household Kates.