I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; Follow your spirit: and upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry! England and Saint George!

My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue.

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.

Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad.

My chastity's the jewel of our house, bequeathed down from many ancestors.