Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.

Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.

First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him.

My love admits no qualifying dross

Heaven give you many, many merry days.

There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts.