What Else May Hap, To Time I

O Love, Be Moderate, Allay Thy Ecstasy, In Measure Rain Thy Joy, Scant This Excess!

If The Skin Were Parchment And The Blows You Gave Were Ink, Your Own Handwriting Would Tell You What I Think.

The Fashion Of The World Is To Avoid Cost, And You Encounter It.

Olivia: What's A Drunken Man Like, Fool? Feste: Like A Drowned Man, A Fool, And A Madman: One Draught Above Heat Makes Him A Fool; The Second Mads Him; And A Third Drowns Him.

His Jest Will Savour But Of Shallow Wit, When Thousands Weep, More Than Did Laugh At It.