AN ARTIFICIAL NIGHT ARC contest #2: What's in a name?

TITANIA: These are the forgeries of jealousy:
And never, since the middle summer’s spring,
Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead,
By paved fountain or by rushy brook,
Or in the beached margent of the sea,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb’d our sport.
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
As in revenge, have suck’d up from the sea
Contagious fogs; which falling in the land
Have every pelting river made so proud
That they have overborne their continents:
The ox hath therefore stretch’d his yoke in vain,
The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attain’d a beard;
The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;
The nine men’s morris is fill’d up with mud,
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green
For lack of tread are undistinguishable:
The human mortals want their winter here;
No night is now with hymn or carol blest:
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound:
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,
And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is which:
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.
"A Midsummer Night's Dream," Act II, Scene 1

Also, from my other favorite:
[Balthasar sings.]
The Song.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more!
Men were deceivers ever, one foot in sea, and one on shore; to one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so, but let them go, and be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe into Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, of dumps so dull and heavy! The fraud of men was ever so, since summer first was leavy. Then sigh not so...
"Much Ado About Nothing" Act II, Scene 3

[or, and this one makes me think of Toby and Tybalt]
Benedick — Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?
Beatrice — [unmasks] I answer to that name. What is your will?
Benedick — Do not you love me?
Beatrice — Why, no; no more than reason.
Benedick — Why, then your uncle, and the Prince, and Claudio have been deceived; for they swore you did.
Beatrice — Do not you love me?
Benedick — Troth, no; no more than reason.
"Much Ado About Nothing" Act V, Scene 4