Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me.
He is white-livered and red-faced.
Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this; for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.
Death lies on her like an untimely frost.
I had as lief have been myself alone.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.