You Have Her Father's Love, Demetrius; Let

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.

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy, Which Is As Thin Of Substance As The Air, And More Inconstant Than The Wind, Who Woos Even Now The Frozen Bosom Of The North, And, Being Anger'd, Puffs Away From Thence, Turning His Side To The Dew-dropping South.

God Grant Us Patience!

A Horse, A Horse, My Kingdom For A Horse!

And Therefore Is Love Said To Be A Child, Because In Choice He Is So Oft Beguil'd