Though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.
A man I am cross'd with adversity.
Gold were as good as twenty orators.
Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: โtis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil
A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *Sheโs a stubborn little brat.*
All love's pleasure shall not match its woe.