Adversity Makes Strange Bedfellows.

Then Know, That I Have Little Wealth To Lose. A Man I Am, Crossed With Adversity; My Riches Are These Poor Habiliments, Of Which If You Should Here Disfurnish Me, You Take The Sum And Substance That I Have.

My Thought, Whose Murder Yet Is But Fantastical, Shakes So My Single State Of Man That Function Is Smothered In Surmise, And Nothing Is But What Is Not.

Affection, Mistress Of Passion, Sways It To The Mood Of What It Likes Or Loathes.

If After Every Tempest Come Such Calms, May The Winds Blow Till They Have Waken'd Death!

Desperate Times Breed Desperate Measures