If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'

Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute 'shall'?

Too nice, and yet too true!

Give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like devils.

O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. . . . She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomi Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.

The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.

Nay, do not think I flatter. For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast but thy good spirits To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flattered?