That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not?
A man can die but once.
To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast!
Though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy.
O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
O heaven! that one might read the book of fate, and see the revolution of the times.