He's All My Exercise, My Mirth, My

Antonio: Will You Stay No Longer? Nor Will You Not That I Go With You? Sebastian: By Your Patience, No. My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me; The Malignancy Of My Fate Might, Perhaps, Distemper Yours; Therefore I Shall Crave Of You Your Leave That I May Bear My Evils Alone. It Were A Bad Recompense For Your Love To Lay Any Of Them On You.

It's Easy For Someone To Joke About Scars If They've Never Been Cut.

Will Fortune Never Come With Both Hands Full, But Write Her Fair Words Still In Foulest Terms?

This Bud Of Love, By Summer's Ripening Breath, May Prove A Beauteous Flower When Next We Meet

. . From This Moment The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand. And Even Now, To Crown My Thoughts With Acts, Be It Thought And Done.