The Play's The Thing.

Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The Fire Of Passion.

How Use Doth Breed A Habit In A Man.

Pardon, Gentles All, The Flat Unraised Spirits That Have Dared On This Unworthy Scaffold To Bring Forth So Great An Object.

I Do Not Seek To Quench Your Love's Hot Fire, But Qualify The Fire's Extreme Rage, Lest It Should Burn Above The Bounds Of Reason.