The Clock Upbraids Me With The Waste

To Be Slow In Words Is A Woman's Only Virtue.

Gratiano Speaks An Infinite Deal Of Nothing, More Than Any Man In All Venice. His Reasons Are As Two Grains Of Wheat Hid In Two Bushels Of Chaff: You Shall Seek All Day Ere You Find Them, And When You Have Them, They Are Not Worth The Search.

Blessings Of Your Heart, You Brew Good Ale.

O Comfort-killing Night, Image Of Hell, Dim Register And Notary Of Shame, Black Stage For Tragedies And Murders Fell, Vast Sin-concealing Chaos, Nurse Of Blame!

He That Loves To Be Flattered Is Worthy O' The Flatterer.