Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency?

Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience.

Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.

For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.

In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

Like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks.

I see a man's life is a tedious one.