World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee/ Life would not yield to age.

An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England.

And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd

Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano!

Like one who draws the model of a house beyond his power to build it who, half through, gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost a naked subject to the weeping clouds.

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man.