An honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.

You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.

There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

I have lov'd her ever since I saw her; and still I see her beautiful

If wishes would prevail with me, my purpose should not fail with me.

'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall.