As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.

Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.

Examine well your blood.

Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this; for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.

I cannot do it without comp[u]ters.

Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.

My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.