QUINCE Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTE Here, Peter Quince. QUINCE Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTE What is Thisby? a wandering knight? QUINCE It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTE Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.

Opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects.

O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power, and slay me not by art.

And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do

Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.