It IS a hat; and that name is quite as poetticle as another.

I think it's Playto, or els Harrystottle, who observes that what we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Confess, now, dear Barnet, don't you long to call it a Polyanthus?
I never see a play more carelessly written.

In such a hurry you seem to have bean, that you have actially in some sentences forgot to put in the sence.

What is this, for instance ?-- "This thrice precious one Smiled to my eyes--drew being from my breast-- Slept in my arms;--the very tears I shed Above my treasures were to men and angels Alike such holy sweetness!" In the name of all the angels that ever you invoked--Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel, Zadkiel, Azrael--what does this "holy sweetness" mean?
We're not spinxes to read such durk conandrums.