Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In

Milk-livered Man, That Bear'st A Cheek For Blows, A Head For Wrongs; Who Hast Not In Thy Brows An Eye Discerning Thine Honor From Thy Suffering; [that Not Know'st Fools Do Those Villains Pity Who Are Punished Ere They Have Done Their Mischief. Where's Thy Drum? France Spreads His Banners In Our Noiseless Land, With Plumed Helm Thy State Begins To Threat, Whilst Thou, A Moral Fool, Sits Still And Cries 'alack, Why Does He So?']

And Worse I May Be Yet: The Worst Is Not So Long As We Can Say 'this Is The Worst.

For I Am He Am Born To Tame You, Kate; And Bring You From A Wild Kate To A Kate Conformable As Other Household Kates.

He Hath Borne Himself Beyond The Promise Of His Age, Doing, In The Figure Of A Lamb, The Feats Of A Lion.

What Are You Doing Sister? / Killing Swine.