Enough no more; Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?

Say she rail; why, I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, and say she uttereth piercing eloquence.

Seems," madam? Nay, it is; I know not "seems." 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

Your worm is your only emperor for diet; we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.

Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.

A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching!