Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.
Men should be what they seem.
He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
Take pains. Be perfect.
Perseverance, my dear Lord. Keeps honour bright.
Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.