Liberty plucks justice by the nose; The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum.

And to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.

To hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature.

I will be free, even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.

Poor and content is rich, and rich enough.

Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all!

There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.