Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.

You are thought here to the most senseless and fit man for the job.

As merry as the day is long.

Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum! Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, revel the night, rob, murder, and commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways?

Past all shame, so past all truth.

Blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.

Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.