The Instruments Of Darkness Tell

We Fail! But Screw Your Courage To The Sticking-place, And We'll Not Fail.

All Fancy-sick She Is And Pale Of Cheer, With Sighs Of Love, That Costs The Fresh Blood Dear.

Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

Do Not, As Some Ungracious Pastors Do, Show Me The Steep And Thorny Way To Heaven; Whilst, Like A Puff'd And Reckless Libertine, Himself The Primrose Path Of Dalliance Treads And Recks Not His Own Read.

Don Pedro Come, Lady, Come; You Have Lost The Heart Of Signior Benedick. Beatrice Indeed, My Lord, He Lent It Me Awhile; And I Gave Him Use For It, A Double Heart For His Single One: Marry, Once Before He Won It Of Me With False Dice, Therefore Your Grace May Well Say I Have Lost It. Don Pedro You Have Put Him Down, Lady, You Have Put Him Down. Beatrice So I Would Not He Should Do Me, My Lord, Lest I Should Prove The Mother Of Fools.