There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.

The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart-see, they bark at me.

O, had I but followed the arts!

Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?

Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor.