If thou couldst, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud you again.

Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.

For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away

I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I ha' lost my reputation, I ha' lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial!

Weed your better judgments of all opinion that grows rank in them.