One whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony.
You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.
Every good servant does not all commands.
O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.