Get Thee To A Nunnery.

Truly, I Would Not Hang A Dog By My Will, Much More A Man Who Hath Any Honesty In Him.

How Now, Wit! Whither Wander You?

My Grief Lies All Within, And These External Manners Of Lament Are Merely Shadows To The Unseen Grief That Swells With Silence In The Tortured Soul.

My Conscience Hath A Thousand Several Tongues, And Every Tongue Brings In A Several Tale, And Every Tale Condemns Me For A Villain. Perjury, Perjury, In The High'st Degree; Murder, Stern Murder In The Dir'st Degree, Throng To The Bar, Crying All, 'guilty!, Guilty!

I Do Not Hate A Proud Man, As I Do Hate The Engendering Of Toads.