This making of Christians will raise the price of hogs.

The eagle suffers little birds to sing.

O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. . . . She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomi Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.

There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.

Report of fashions in proud Italy Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation Limps after in base imitation

My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.