Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green.

Come give us a taste of your quality.

My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

Do you take me for a sponge, my lord? hamlet: Ay, sir; that soaks up the king's countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the king best service in the end: he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again. rosencrantz: I understand you not, my lord. hamlet: I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.

So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all.

Barnes are blessings.

Sin will pluck on sin.