Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more than such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.

And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.

Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure.

Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.

We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

All offences come from the heart.