Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ileum?

... when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

I am Envy, begotten of a chimney-sweeper and an oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore wish all books were burnt; I am lean with seeing others eat - O that there would come a famine through all the world, that all might die, and I live alone; then thou should'st see how fat I would be! But must thou sit and I stand? Come down, with a vengeance!

Goodness is beauty in the best estate.

Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.