Away, you mouldy rogue, away!
Be just, and fear not.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England.
The man that hath no music in himself
When truth kills truth, O devilish holy fray!