My Wits Begin To Turn.

Now The Fair Goddess, Fortune, Fall Deep In Love With Thee, And Her Great Charms Misguide Thy Opposers' Swords!

Ill Met By Moonlight, Proud Titania

And In The Morn And Liquid Dew Of Youth, Contagious Blastments Are Are Most Imminent.

I'll Never Be Such A Gosling To Obey Instinct, But Stand As Is A Man Were Author Of Himself And Knew No Other Kin.

Nay Then, Let The Devil Wear Black, For I'll Have A Suit Of Sables.