And simple truth miscalled simplicity

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Slander, whose whisper over the world's diameter, as level as the cannon to its blank, transports its poisoned shot.

If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.

Ay me! sad hours seem long.

In right and service to their noble country.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.