O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.
Thoughts are but dreams till their effects are tried.
Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent.
I...Kisss the tender inward of thy hand.
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.