Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.
For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women mearly players.
They are hare-brain'd slaves.
The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, is often left unloved.
He's of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger.... he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.