Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit

O For A Muse Of Fire, That Would Ascend The Brightest Heaven Of Invention, A Kingdom For A Stage, Princes To Act And Monarchs To Behold The Swelling Scene!

My Rage Is Gone, And I Am Struck With Sorrow. Take Him Up. Help, Three O' Th' Chiefest Soldiers; I'll Be One. Beat Thou The Drum, That It Speaks Mournfully, Trail Your Steel Spikes. Though In This City He Hath Widowed And Unchilded Many A One, Which To This Hour Bewail The Injury, Yet He Shall Have A Noble Memory. Assist.

Though I Am Not Naturally Honest, I Am Sometimes So By Chance.

And I Will Make It Felony To Drink Small Beer.

O, Beware, My Lord, Of Jealousy; It Is The Green-ey'd Monster, Which Doth Mock The Meat It Feeds On.