For Now They Kill Me With A

The Clamorous Owl That Nightly Hoots And Wonders At Our Quaint Spirits.

My Father Compounded With My Mother Under The Dragon's Tail, And My Nativity Was Under Ursa Major, So That It Follows, I Am Roughand Lecherous. Tut, I Should Have Been That I Am, Had The Maidenliest Star In The Firmament Twinkled On My Bastardizing.

Well, If Fortune Be A Woman, She's A Good Wench For This Gear.

Let Me Not Live, After My Flame Lacks Oil, To Be The Snuff Of Younger Spirits.

Bid Me Run, And I Will Strive With Things Impossible.