A Knot You Are Of Damned Bloodsuckers.

It Is In Pardoning That We Are Pardoned.

O Romeo, Romeo, Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? Deny Thy Father Refuse Thy Name, Thou Art Thyself Thou Not A Montegue, What Is Montegue? Tis Nor Hand Nor Foot Nor Any Other Part Belonging To A Man What Is In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet, So Romeo Would Were He Not Romeo Called Retain Such Dear Perfection To Which He Owes Without That Title, Romeo, Doth Thy Name! And For That Name Which Is No Part Of Thee, Take All Thyself.

Sin From Thy Lips? O Trespass Sweetly Urged! Give Me My Sin Again.

And, Looking On It With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, "it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See," Quoth He, "how The World Wags."

I Have Seen Roses Damask'd, Red And White, But No Such Roses See I In Her Cheeks.