Neither A Borrower Nor A Lender Be.

Affection, Mistress Of Passion, Sways It To The Mood Of What It Likes Or Loathes.

Ay, But Hearken, Sir; Though The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air, I Am One That Am Nourished By My Victuals, And Would Fain Have Meat.

Come, Woo Me, Woo Me, For Now I Am In A Holiday Humor, And Like Enough To Consent.

Hold, Or Cut Bowstrings.

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat; Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This.