Do you take me for a sponge, my lord? hamlet: Ay, sir; that soaks up the king's countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the king best service in the end: he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again. rosencrantz: I understand you not, my lord. hamlet: I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.

O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.

Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

O the world is but a word; were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!

My love admits no qualifying dross

But like of each thing that in season grows.