I'm armed with more than complete steel, - The justice of my quarrel.
You stars that reigned at my nativity, whose influence hath allotted death and hell.
If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, And so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death.
Excess of wealth is cause of covetousness.
Strike up the drum and march courageously.
Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham'd, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.