Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.

Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.

Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor.

Let each man do his best.

So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly; it strikes where it doth love.

O world, world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed?