O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The golden age is before us, not behind us.
I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear
In delay there lies no plenty.
A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!