He Jests At Scars That

Such Antics Do Not Amount To A Man.

Against My Will I Am Sent To Bid You Come In To Dinner. Benedick Fair Beatrice, I Thank You For Your Pains. Beatrice I Took No More Pains For Those Thanks Than You Take Pains To Thank Me: If It Had Been Painful, I Would Not Have Come. Benedick You Take Pleasure Then In The Message? Beatrice Yea, Just So Much As You May Take Upon A Knife's Point ... You Have No Stomach, Signior: Fare You Well. Exit Benedick Ha! 'against My Will I Am Sent To Bid You Come In To Dinner;' There's A Double Meaning In That... (much Ado About Nothing)

A Sympathy In Choice.

Grim-visaged War Hath Smoothed His Wrinkled Front; And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries, He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber To The Lascivious Pleasing Of A Lute.

Too Nice, And Yet Too True!