Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.

For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar; and't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines And blow them at the moon.

A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*

Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn.

The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.