Can I go forward when my heart is here?

O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.

A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?

I had rather eleven died nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.

For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.

To fear the worst oft cures the worst.

Give me my sin again.