Covering Discretion With A Coat

Sleep Knits Up The Raveled Sleeve Of Care.

I Am Your Wife If You Will Marry Me. If Not, I'll Die Your Maid. To Be Your Fellow You May Deny Me, But I'll Be Your Servant Whether You Will Or No.

A Goodly Portly Man, I' Faith, And A Corpulent; Of A Cheerful Look, A Pleasing Eye, And A Most Noble Carriage; And, As I Think, His Age Some Fifty, Or, By'r Lady, Inclining To Threescore; And Now I Remember Me, His Name Is Falstaff.

The Moon Of Rome, Chaste As The Icicle That's Curded By The Frost From Purest Snow.

Thou Art A Castilian King Urinal!