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!'

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.

What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish!

Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!

What, can the devil speak true?

Lovers can do their amorous rites by their own beauties