How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.

What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*

Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.

To go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes

Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.

Taste your legs, sire: put them into motion.