Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.

Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.

And nature must obey necessity.

The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.

How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?

Out of her favour, where I am in love.

Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these.