Nothing like a little Shakespeare to help out a burning ring of fire............'Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers;
I have not art to reckon my groans: but that
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
HAMLET
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd


MERCUTIO
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no
bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an
alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Over
men's noses as they lie asleep; Her chariot is an
empty hazel-nut Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,
And in this state she gallops night by night Through
lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er
lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then
dreams he of cutting foreign throats, And being thus
frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That
presses them and learns them first to bear, Making
them women of good carriage: This is she--This is
she!
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BENVOLIO
Art thou hurt?

MERCUTIO
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Ay, a scratch, a
scratch. HA HA HA.

ROMEO
Courage man, the hurt can not be much.

MERCUTIO
'Twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find
me a grave man. A plague o' both your houses. They
have made worms meat of me. A plague on both your
Houses! Why the devil did you come between us? I was
hurt under your arm.

ROMEO
I thought all for the best.

MERCUTIO
A Plague o' both your houses.

(c) Come N Thru Productions