I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O list!

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!

Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.

Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed.

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

When the mind's free, The Body's delicate.

Take you me for a sponge?