I Have Supped Full With Horrors.

All Dark And Comfortless.

Use Every Man According To His Desert And Who Should 'scape Whipping? Use Them After Your Own Honor And Dignity, The Less They Deserve ... The More Merit In Your Bounty.

Small Herbs Have Grace, Great Weeds Do Grow Apace.

You Common Cry Of Curs! Whose Breath I Hate As Reek O' The Rotten Fens, Whose Loves I Prize As The Dead Carcasses Of Unburied Men That Do Corrupt My Air, I Banish You; And Here Remain With Your Uncertainty!

This Man, Lady, Hath Robb'd Many Beasts Of Their Particular Additions: He Is As Valiant As A Lion, Churlish As The Bear, Slow As The Elephant-a Man Into Whom Nature Hath So Crowded Humours That His Valour Is Crush'd Into Folly, His Folly Sauced With Discretion.