A sad tale's best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins.

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.

I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; not the soldier's which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?

I am misanthropos, and hate mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.

Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words

The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.