You are thought here to the most senseless and fit man for the job.

By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.

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.

How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!

Till all grace be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.

The will of man is by his reason sway'd.

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven; and as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet's pen turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name; such tricks hath strong imagination.