And it is very much lamented,... That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye That you might see your shadow.
Past and to come, seems best; things present, worse.
Murder most foul, as in the best it it; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
God defend me from that Welsh fairy, Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!
A flock of blessings light upon thy back
Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.