Looking at my script today, i noticed that after mercutio dies, i have a large break. in that large break i promise to bake all of you pecan pies and flans. I must now type my monologue from memory without looking.

O then i see queen mab hath been with you. she is the fairies' midwife and she comes in shape no bigger than an agate stone on the forfinger of an alderman. drawn with a team of little atomies, athwart men's noses as they lie asleep. her chariot is an empty hazelnut, the wagon spokes made of long spider's legs, the cover of the wings of grasshoppers. and in this state she gallops night by night through lover's brains who dream of love, o'er courtiers knees who dream of courtsies straight, o'er lawyers fingers who straight dream of fees, o'er ladies lips who straight on kisses dream which oft the angry mab with blisters plague for their breaths of sweetmeats tainted are. sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck and then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, of breaches, ambuscadoes, spanish blades, of healths, five-fathom deep. this is she--