Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say! One:

I Do Desire We May Be Better Strangers.

I Could A Tale Unfold Whose Lightest Word Would Harrow Up Thy Soul, Freeze Thy Young Blood, Make Thy Two Eyes Like Stars Start From Their Spheres, Thy Knotted And Combined Locks To Part, And Each Particular Hair To Stand On End Like Quills Upon The Fretful Porpentine. But This Eternal Blazon Must Not Be To Ears Of Flesh And Blood. List, List, O List!

You Have Dancing Shoes With Nimble Soles. I Have A Soul Of Lead.

I'll Forbear; And Am Fallen Out With My More Headier Will To Take The Indisposed And Sickly Fit For The Sound Man.

It Is The Purpose That Makes Strong The Vow; But Vows To Every Purpose Must Not Hold.