Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me.
Costly thy habit [dress] as thy purse can buy; But not expressed in fancy - rich, not gaudy. For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.
A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?