'tis Pride That Pulls The Country Down.

I Do Not Set My Life At A Pin's Fee, And For My Soul, What Can It Do To That, Being A Thing Immortal As Itself?

There's No More Faith In Thee Than In A Stewed Prune.

Tam: What Begg’st Thou Then? Fond Woman, Let Me Go. Lav: ’tis Present Death I Beg; And One Thing More That Womanhood Denies My Tongue To Tell. O! Keep Me From Their Worse Than Killing Lust, And Tumble Me Into Some Loathsome Pit, Where Never Man’s Eye May Behold My Body: Do This, And Be A Charitable Murderer. Tam: So Should I Rob My Sweet Sons Of Their Fee: No, Let Them Satisfy Their Lust On Thee. Dem: Away! For Thou Hast Stay’d Us Here Too Long. Lav: No Grace! No Womanhood! Ah, Beastly Creature, The Blot And Enemy To Our General Name. Confusion Fall—

Where Love Is Great, The Littlest Doubts Are Fear; Where Little Fears Grow Great, Great Love Grows There.

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.