I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.
Faith, there hath been many great men that have flattered the people who ne'er loved them.
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
Leave us to our free election.
By God, I cannot flatter, I do defy The tongues of soothers! but a braver place In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.