Foul whisperings are abroad

They love least that let men know their loves.

The chameleon Love can feed on the air

These blessed candles of the night.

Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.

The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.