When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy

Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The Fire Of Passion.

All The World's A Stage.

He Was Met Even Now As Mad As The Vex'd Sea; Singing Aloud; Crown'd With Rank Fumiter And Furrow-weeds, With Bur-docks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, And All The Idle Weeds That Grow In Our Sustaining Corn.

Discomfort Guides My Tongue And Bids Me Speak Of Nothing But Despair.

For Mercutio's Soul Is But A Little Way Above Our Heads, Staying For Thine To Keep Him Company: Either Thou, Or I, Or Both, Must Go With Him.