Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.

I came, saw, and overcame.

Past all shame, so past all truth.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this, That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence; the next more easy; For use almost can change the stamp of nature.

Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.

Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.