It comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him.
How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.