I cannot do it without comp[u]ters.

He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.

You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised.

Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god.

Many that are not mad have, sure, more lack of reason.

And it is very much lamented,... That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye That you might see your shadow.

What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?