The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.

I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.

Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.

I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.

No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.

Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it.

While he was drunk asleep, or in his rage, or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed.