Frame Your Mind To Mirth And Merriment

Sick In The World's Regard, Wretched And Low.

Grace Me No Grace, Nor Uncle Me No Uncle; I Am No Traitor's Uncle, And That Word "grace" In An Ungracious Mouth Is But Profane.

Faith, Stay Here This Night; They Will Surely Do Us No Harm; You Saw They Speak Us Fair, Give Us Gold; Methinks They Are Such A Gentle Nation That, But For The Mountain Of Mad Flesh That Claims Marriage Of Me, Could Find In My Heart To Stay Here Still And Turn Witch.

A Knavish Speech Sleeps In A Fool's Ear.

To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much.