Title: Optional

Text: O, that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon against self-slaughter! O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah fie! It's an un weeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. Jeder Absatz wird ein Test sein.

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