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

I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.

Time and the hour run through the roughest day.

There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.

By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.

Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

Rich honesty dwells like a miser, Sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.