Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk!
It is the cowish terror of his spirit that dares not undertake; he'll not feel wrongs which tie him to an answer.
Gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gain'd my freedom.
Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight
Silence is the perfect herald of joy.
The means that heaven yields must be embraced, and not neglected; else, if heaven would, and we will not heaven's offer, we refuse the proffered means of succor and redress.