Taste Your Legs, Sire: Put Them Into

I Am Wealthy In My Friends.

Pardon, Gentles All, The Flat Unraised Spirits That Have Dared On This Unworthy Scaffold To Bring Forth So Great An Object.

Tongues I'll Hang On Every Tree That Shall Civil Sayings Show. . . .

Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt, If Ever, Now.

O Teach Me How I Should Forget To Think (1.1.224)