Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.
Beware the ides of March.
Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal do warrant The tenor of my book.
Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.
If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.
The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!