Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!
'tis no wit to go
Why, may one ask?
I dream'd a dream to-night
And so did I
Well, what was yours?
That dreamers often lie
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you
She is the fairies' midwife
Her traces of the smallest spider web
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid
In this state she gallops night by night
Ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream
Then he dreams of another benefice
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again
This is she, this is she
Peace, Mercutio, peace
Thou talk'st of nothing
Are you okay?
I'll be fine...
God, Jason, you're flying !
Guys, come on !