Transcription

Wallace: "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Nay, lint of my navel. Thou art like unto the light, fresh fur on a newborn cub's bottom..."

Dwayne: I don't think I can stand this much longer...
Nick: I wonder how the others are doing...

[[Ki is hanging off a cliff holding only to a root, and Trudy is hanging off her]]
Ki: Uh... Help?

{{Wallace's poem starts out like Shakespeare's Sonnet #18.}}