Benedick: I am man enough to say that I love thee. Is that not strange?
Beatrice: Not really?
Benedick: By my sword, Beatrice thou lovest me.
Beatrice: Get over yourself
To celebrate the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare's death, this is the third of...
Alas poor Yorick, he looks not at all well.
I knew him, Horatio;
a fellow of infinite jest, though sadly finite breath.
Though thy gibes be still, yet still thou grins.
I seldom saw thy teeth look quite so clean
To celebrate the 400th anniversary of...