He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.

DEMETRIUS Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. LYSANDER You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.

Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.

And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.

Hate pollutes the mind.