True Apothecary Thy Drugs Art Quick

The Lady Doth Protest Too Much, Methinks.

Why, What's The Matter, That You Have Such A February Face, So Full Of Frost, Of Storm And Cloudiness?

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

A Man Should Be What He Seems.

O You Beast! I'll So Maul You And Your Toasting-iron, That You Shall Think The Devil Is Come From Hell.