Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on his back.
They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.
Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.