This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.
Thou ominous and fearful owl of death.
O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
If you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.