One sin another doth provoke.
My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am nor what I do.
There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
And Caesar shall go forth.
Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th' entire point.