It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking.

Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!

Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.

And nature must obey necessity.

There is nothing serious in Mortality

Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever

QUINCE Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTE Here, Peter Quince. QUINCE Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTE What is Thisby? a wandering knight? QUINCE It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTE Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.