Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.

I scorn you, scurvy companion.

You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller.

How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

So. Lie there, my art.

Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

Love all. Trust a few. Do wrong to none. This above all: to thine own self be true. No legacy is so rich as honesty. Brevity is the soul of wit