Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant can trickle when she wounds!

A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity; but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.

Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

What e'er thou art, act well thy part.

For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

My nature is subdued to what it works in, like the dyer's hand.

I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger. 'No, and if he were I would burn my library.