You have but mistook me all the while... I live by bread like you, taste grief, feel want, need friends. Conditioned thus how can you call me king?

You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.

When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.

Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them.

But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live.

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.

Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.