I can give the loser leave to chide.

...too much sadness hath congealed your blood,And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty!, guilty!

And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury.

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.

To be direct and honest is not safe.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry