And to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.

Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things. [Act 5, Scene 2]

where civil blood makes civil hands unclean

Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.

Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

The weakest goes to the wall.