O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world.

To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty!, guilty!

How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

The Devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape.

O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, 1710. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

What e'er thou art, act well thy part.