Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
For I can raise no money by vile means.
The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.