I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger I recover them.

Now my charms are all o'erthrown.

If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.

I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.(IAGO,ActI,SceneI)

Alas, how love can trifle with itself!

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed

What is the city but the people?