Anger's My Meat. I Sup Upon Myself,

O, My Offence Is Rank, It Smells To Heaven

Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say!

The Curse Of Marriage That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites!

My Nature Is Subdued To What It Works In, Like The Dyer's Hand.

A Good Wit Will Make Use Of Anything.