I hold my peace, sir? no; No, I will speak as liberal as the north; Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

Tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home.

Give me my sin again.

What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die

For many men that stumble at the threshold are well foretold that danger lurks within.

Love hath made thee a tame snake