Give me mine angle, we'll to th' river: there, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce Their slimy jaws; and as I draw them up, I'll think them every one an Antony, And say, 'Ah, ha! are caught!'

In time we hate that which we often fear.

O braggart vile and damned furious wight!

We are such stuff that dreams are made of.

Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by

Which means she to deceive, father or mother?

I may command where I adore.