Out, Damned Spot! Out, I

Look, What Envious Streaks Do Lace The Severing Clouds In Yonder East! Night's Candles Are Burnt Out, And Jocund Day Stands Tip-toe On The Misty Mountain-tops.

I Am In Blood Stepp'd In So Far, That, Should I Wade No More, Returning Were As Tedious As Go O'er.

I Must To The Barber's, Monsieur, For Methinks I Am Marvellous Hairy About The Face.

So Get The Start Of The Majestic World And Bear The Palm Alone.

Desperate Times Breed Desperate Measures