The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.

In the modesty of fearful duty, I read as much as from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence.

Cursed be he that moves my bones.

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.

O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?

Let me have men about me that are fat... Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England; fairly met!