'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile standing-tuck!

There's villainous news abroad.

Fairies use flowers for their charactery.

Out, damned spot! out, I say! One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky!

There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail.

Conscience doth make cowards of us all.

Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience.