The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
In thy face I see the map of honour, truth and loyalty.
Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .
Celebrity is never more admired than by the negligent.