Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.

Here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.

You abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone.

Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!

Art made tongue-tied by authority.

Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.