It Will Have Blood, They Say; Blood

If I May Trust The Flattering Truth Of Sleep, My Dreams Presage Some Joyful News At Hand. My Bosom's Lord Sits Lightly In His Throne, And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.

Olivia: What's A Drunken Man Like, Fool? Feste: Like A Drowned Man, A Fool, And A Madman: One Draught Above Heat Makes Him A Fool; The Second Mads Him; And A Third Drowns Him.

Nothing Teems But Hateful Docks, Rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs, Losing Both Beauty And Utility.

Lions Make Leopards Tame.

I Should Think This A Gull, But That The White-bearded Fellow Speaks It; Knavery Cannot, Sure, Hide Himself In Such Reverence.