Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.

The chameleon Love can feed on the air

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

Take but degree away, untune that string, and hark, what discord follows!

Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions

We may outrun By violent swiftness And lose by over-running.