Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
She is a woman, therefore to be won.
A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.
We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he today That sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.
Hang him, swaggering rascal!
Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I; every man to his business.