If You Be King, Why Should Not

I Am That Merry Wanderer Of The Night.

Romeo: Courage, Man; The Hurt Cannot Be Much. Mercutio: No, 'tis Not So Deep As A Well, Nor So Wide As A Church-door; But 'tis Enough, 'twill Serve. Ask For Me Tomorrow, And You Shall Find Me A Grave Man.

Tired With All These For Restful Death I Cry, As To Behold Desert A Beggar Born, And Needy Nothing Trimmed In Jollity, And Purest Faith Unhappily Forsworn.

The Violence Of Either Grief Or Joy, Their Own Enactures With Themselves Destroy.

O, She's Warm! If This Be Magic, Let It Be An Art Lawful As Eating.