Therefore it is most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself.
You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him!
Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus.
Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.