A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.
Talkers are no good doers.
Out, damned spot! out, I say! One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky!
Nothing 'gainst Times scythe can make defence.
QUINCE Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTE Here, Peter Quince. QUINCE Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTE What is Thisby? a wandering knight? QUINCE It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTE Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.