Words are but empty thanks. - Colley Cibber

Perish that thought! No, never be it said
That Fate itself could awe the soul of Richard.
Hence, babbling dreams! you threaten here in vain!
Conscience, avaunt! Richard ’s himself again!
Hark! the shrill trumpet sounds to horse! away!
My soul ’s in arms, and eager for the fray.

Tea! Thou soft, thou sober, sage, and venerable liquid, thou innocent pretence for bringing the wicked of both sexes together in a morning; thou female tongue-running, smile-smoothing, heart- opening, wink-tipping cordial, to whose glorious insipidity I owe the happiest moment of my life, let me fall prostrate thus, and … adore thee.

Prithee don’t screw your wit beyond the compass of good manners.