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His Worst Fault Is, He's Given To Prayer; He Is Something Peevish That Way.

-William Shakespeare

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His Worst Fault Is,

William Shakespeare

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His Worst Fault Is, He's Given To Prayer; He Is Something Peevish That Way.

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

The Good I Stand On Is My Truth And Honesty.

Truth And Honesty

All Is Well Ended If This Suit Be Won. That You Express Content; Which We Will Pay, With Strife To Please You, Day Exceeding Day.

Good Wine Needs No Bush.

They Have Been At A Great Feast Of Languages, And Stolen The Scraps.

The Liquid Drops Of Tears That You Have Shed Shall Come Again, Transform'd To Orient Pearl, Advantaging Their Loan With Interest Of Ten Times Double Gain Of Happiness.

He's Mad That Trusts In The Tameness Of A Wolf.

Why Should Honor Outlive Honestly? Orthello

The Commonwealth Of Athens Is Become A Forest Of Beasts.

I Can Again Thy Former Light Restore, Should I Repent Me: But Once Put Out Thy Light, Thou Cunning'st Pattern Of Excelling Nature, I Know Not Where Is That Promethean Heat That Can Thy Light Relume.

Taffeta Phrases, Silken Terms Precise, Three-piled Hyperboles, Spruce Affection, Figures Pedantical--these Summer Flies Have Blown Me Full Of Maggot Ostentation.

O, Beware, My Lord, Of Jealousy; It Is The Green-ey'd Monster, Which Doth Mock The Meat It Feeds On.

That In The Captains But A Choleric Word Which In The Soldier Is Flat Blasphemy.

Measure For Measure

A Very Little Thief Of Occasion Will Rob You Of A Great Deal Of Patience.

The Pleasant'st Angling Is To See The Fish Cut With Her Golden Oars The Silver Stream And Greedily Devour The Treacherous Bait.

Of All Complexions The Culled Sovereignty Do Meet, As At A Fair, In Her Fair Cheek, Where Several Worthies Make One Dignity, Where Nothing Wants That Want Itself Doth Seek.

You Kiss By Th' Book.

I Do Beseech You- Though I Perchance Am Vicious In My Guess , That Your Wisdom Yet From One That So Imperfectly Conjects Would Take No Notice, Nor Build Yourself A Trouble Out Of His Scattering And Unsure Observance.

Why, Who Cries Out On Pride That Can Therein Tax Any Private Party? Doth It Not Flow As Hugely As The Sea Till The Weary Very Means Do Ebb?

Your Cause Of Sorrow Must Not Be Measured By His Worth, For Then It Hath No End.

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking.

Make Use Of Time, Let Not Advantage Slip.

That Man That Hath A Tongue, I Say Is No Man, If With His Tongue He Cannot Win A Woman.

Had I But Died An Hour Before This Chance, I Had Liv'd A Blessed Time; For, From This Instant, There's Nothing Serious In Mortality: All Is But Toys; Renown, And Grace Is Dead; The Wine Of Life Is Drawn, And The Mere Lees Is Left This Vault To Brag Of.

She Will Die If You Love Her Not, And She Will Die Ere She Might Make Her Love Known

It Easeth Some, Though None It Ever Cured, To Think Their Dolour Others Have Endured.

He That Has A House To Put's Head In Has A Good Head-piece.

Heaven - The Treasury Of Everlasting Life.

I Will Not Trust You, I, Nor Longer Stay In Your Curst Company. Your Hands Than Mine Are Quicker For A Fray, My Legs Are Longer Though, To Run Away.

Were Beauty Under Twenty Locks Kept Fast, Yet Love Breaks Through And Picks Them All At Last.

Take Her Away; For She Hath Lived Too Long, To Fill The World With Vicious Qualities.

Believe Then, If You Please, That I Can Do Strange Things. [act 5, Scene 2]

You Had Measured How Long A Fool You Were Upon The Ground.

Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination, That, If It Would But Apprehend Some Joy, It Comprehends Some Bringer Of That Joy; Or In The Night, Imagining Some Fear, How Easy Is A Bush Supposed A Bear!

Men Shut Their Doors Against A Setting Sun.

I Am Not Bound To Please Thee With My Answer.

It Was A Lover And His Lass, With A Hey, And A Ho, And A Hey Nonino, That O'er The Green Corn-field Did Pass, In The Spring Time, The Only Pretty Ring Time, When Birds Do Sing, Hey Ding A Ding, Ding; Sweet Lovers Love The Spring.

Against Self-slaughter There Is A Prohibition So Divine That Cravens My Weak Hand.

This Blessed Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England.

Precious Stones

Paradise On Earth

I Have A Soul Of Lead So Stakes Me To The Ground I Cannot Move.

Good Counselors Lack No Clients.

I, Measuring His Affections By My Own, Which Then Most Sought Where Most Might Not Be Found, Being One Too Many By My Weary Self, Pursued My Humor Not Pursuing His, And Gladly Shunned Who Gladly Fled From Me.

By-and-by Is Easily Said.

Let Us Be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen Of The Shade, Minions Of The Moon

If Reasons Were As Plentiful As Blackberries, I Would Give No Man A Reason Upon Compulsion.

Tis Much When Sceptres Are In Children's Hands, But More When Envy Breeds Unkind Division: There Comes The Ruin, There Begins Confusion.

Nothing Comes From Doing Nothing.

Who Can Be Wise, Amazed, Temperate And Furious, Loyal And Neutral, In A Moment? No Man.

Most Friendship Is Feigning, Most Loving Mere Folly.

Marry, Sir, They Praise Me And Make An Ass Of Me. Now My Foes Tell Me Plainly I Am An Ass; So That By My Foes, Sir, I Profit In The Knowledge Of Myself, Any By My Friends I Am Abused; So That, Conclusions To Be As Kisses, If Your Four Negatives Make Your Two Affirmatives, Why Then, The Worse For My Friends, And The Better For My Foes.

So Many Horrid Ghosts.

What's More To Do, Which Would Be Planted Newly With The Time, As Calling Home Our Exiled Friends Abroad That Fled The Snares Of Watchful Tyranny, Producing Forth The Cruel Ministers Of This Dead Butcher And His Fiend-like Queen, Who, As 'tis Thought, By Self And Violent Hands Took Off Her Life; This, And What Needful Else That Calls Upon Us, By The Grace Of Grace We Will Perform In Measure, Time, And Place.

I Have Bought Golden Opinions From All Sorts Of People.

Beware Of Entrance To A Quarrel.

Lawn As White As Driven Snow; Cyprus Black As E'er Was Crow; Gloves As Sweet As Damask Roses.

Preposterous Ass, That Never Read So Far To Know The Cause Why Music Was Ordain'd! Was It Not To Refresh The Mind Of Man, After His Studies Or His Usual Pain?

They Met So Near With Their Lips That Their Breaths Embraced Together.

The Little Dogs And All, Tray, Blanch, And Sweetheart-see, They Bark At Me.

Beware The Ides Of March.

A Violet In The Youth Of Primy Nature, Forward, Not Permanent--sweet, Not Lasting; The Perfume And Suppliance Of A Minute; No More.

Hamlet And Ophelia

I Can Express No Kinder Sign Of Love, Than This Kind Kiss.

The Fear's As Bad As Falling.

Flower Of This Purple Dye, Hit With Cupid's Archery, Sink In Apple Of His Eye.

Why Should We Rise Because 'tis Light? Did We Lie Down Because T'was Night?

He's Loved Of The Distracted Multitude, Who Like Not In Their Judgement, But Their Eyes.

Fie, Fie Upon Her! There's Language In Her Eye, Her Cheek, Her Lip, Nay, Her Foot Speaks; Her Wanton Spirits Look Out At Every Joint And Motive Of Her Body.

If There Be No Great Love In The Beginning, Yet Heaven May Decrease It Upon Better Acquaintance, When We Are Married And Have More Occasion To Know One Another: I Hope, Upon Familiarity Will Grow More Contempt.

Sin, That Amends, Is But Patched With Virtue.

It Is Held That Valor Is The Chiefest Virtue, And Most Dignifies The Haver.

When Heaven Doth Weep, Doth Not The Earth O'erflow? If The Winds Rage, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threatening The Welkin With His Big-swollen Face?

Who Has A Book Of All That Monarchs Do, He's More Secure To Keep It Shut Than Shown; For Vice Repeated Is Like The Wand'ring Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eye, To Spread Itself; And Yet The End Of All Is Bought Thus Dear, The Breath Is Gone, And The Sore Eyes See Clear To Stop The Air Would Hurt Them.

When We Are Born We Cry That We Are Come To This Great Stage Of Fools.

O, Full Of Scorpions Is My Mind!

Look, How This Ring Encompasseth Thy Finger, Even So Thy Breast Encloseth My Poor Heart; Wear Both Of Them, For Both Of Them Are Thine.

For My Grief's So Great That No Supporter But The Huge Firm Earth Can Hold It Up: Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It. (constance, From King John, Act Iii, Scene 1)

We Must Take The Current When It Serves, Or Lose Our Ventures.

Be Not Too Tame Neither, But Let Your Own Discretion Be Your Tutor; Suit The Action To The Word, The Word To The Action.

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy, Which Is As Thin Of Substance As The Air, And More Inconstant Than The Wind, Who Woos Even Now The Frozen Bosom Of The North, And, Being Anger'd, Puffs Away From Thence, Turning His Side To The Dew-dropping South.

Sweetest Nut Hath Sourest Rind.

And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.

Love Hath Made Thee A Tame Snake

Take All The Swift Advantage Of The Hours.

Weed Your Better Judgments Of All Opinion That Grows Rank In Them.

Every Subject's Duty Is The King's; But Every Subject's Soul Is His Own. Therefore, Should Every Soldier In The Wars Do As Every Sick Man In His Bed, Wash Every Mote Out Of His Conscience; And Dying So, Death Is To Him Advantage; Or Not Dying, The Time Was Blessedly Lost Wherein Such Preparation Was Gained; And In Him That Escapes, It Were No Sin To Think That, Making God So Free An Offer, He Let Him Outlive The Day To See His Greatness And To Teach Others How They Should Prepare.

So Many Miseries Have Craz'd My Voice, That My Woe-wearied Tongue Is Still And Mute.

Things Base And Vile, Holding No Quantity, Love Can Transpose To Form And Dignity

Light, Seeking Light, Doth Light Of Light Beguile

Finish, Good Lady; The Bright Day Is Done, And We Are For The Dark.

Melancholy Is The Nurse Of Frenzy.

Though Patience Be A Tired Mare, Yet She Will Plod.

Tis The Eye Of Childhood That Fears A Painted Devil.

I Myself Am Best When Least In Company.

He Was Too Good To Be Where Ill Men Were, And Was The Best Of All Amongst The Rar'st Of Good Ones- Sitting Sadly Hearing Us Praise Our Loves Of Italy For Beauty That Made Barren The Swell'd Boast Of Him That Best Could Speak; For Feature, Laming The Shrine Of Venus Or Straight-pight Minerva, Postures Beyond Brief Nature; For Condition, A Shop Of All The Qualities That Man Loves Woman For; Besides That Hook Of Wiving, Fairness Which Strikes The Eye- Cymbeline.

O, Men's Vows Are Women's Traitors! All Good Seeming, By Thy Revolt, O Husband, Shall Be Thought Put On For Villainy, Not Born Where't Grows, But Worn A Bait For Ladies.

If Ever Thou Shalt Love, In The Sweet Pangs Of It Remember Me; For Such As I Am All True Lovers Are, Unstaid And Skittish In All Motions Else Save In The Constant Image Of The Creature That Is Beloved.

Poor And Content, Is Rich And Rich Enough; But Riches, Fineless, Is As Poor As Winter, To Him That Ever Fears He Shall Be Poor.

Self Improvement

My Love Is Thine To Teach; Teach It But How, And Thou Shalt See How Apt It Is To Learn. Any Hard Lesson That May Do Thee Good.

O, Speak Again, Bright Angel! For Thou Art As Glorious To This Night, Being O'er My Head As Is A Winged Messenger Of Heaven

So Weary With Disasters, Tugg'd With Fortune, That I Would Set My Life On Any Chance, To Mend, Or Be Rid On't.

Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May.

England Is Safe, If True Within Itself.

So May The Outward Shows Be Least Themselves; The World Is Still Deceived With Ornament.

So, Good Night Unto You All. Give Me Your Hands, If We Be Friends, And Robin Shall Restore Amends.

Dead Poets Society

Great Men Should Drink With Harness On Their Throats.

He Is Well Paid That Is Well Satisfied.

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—

If There Be Devils, Would I Were A Devil, To Live And Burn In Everlasting Fire, So I Might Have Your Company In Hell, But To Torment You With My Bitter Tongue!

Do Not Give Dalliance Too Much Rein; The Strongest Oaths Are Straw To The Fire In The Blood.

Hung Be The Heavens With Black! Yield, Day, To Night!

To Be Direct And Honest Is Not Safe.

Neither My Place, Nor Aught I Heard Of Business, Hath Raised Me From My Bed; Nor Doth The General Care Take Hold On Me; For My Particular Grief Is Of So Floodgate And O'erbearing Nature That It Engluts And Swallows Other Sorrows, And It Is Still Itself.

Why, Look You, I Am Whipp'd And Scourg'd With Rods, Nettled And Stung With Pismires[nettles], When I Hear Of This Vile Politician, Bolingbroke.

Alack, The Night Comes On, And The Bleak Winds Do Sorely Ruffle; For Many Miles About There's Scarce A Bush.

Nice Customs Curtsy To Great Kings.

Put On The Dauntless Spirit Of Resolution.

The Better Part Of Valor Is Discretion, In The Which Better Part I Have Saved My Life.

Offering Advice

We Must Be Gentle Now We Are Gentlemen.

A Fool Thinks Himself To Be Wise, But A Wise Man Knows Himself To Be A Fool.

Is It Possible He Should Know What He Is, And Be That He Is?

The Eye Sees All, But The Mind Shows Us What We Want To See.

Teach Me, Dear Creature, How To Think And Speak; Lay Open To My Earthy-gross Conceit, Smother'd In Errors, Feeble, Shallow, Weak, The Folded Meaning Of Your Words' Deceit.

Therefore It Is Most Expedient For The Wise, If Don Worm (his Conscience) Find No Impediment To The Contrary, To Be The Trumpet Of His Own Virtues, As I Am To Myself.

I 'gin To Be Aweary Of The Sun, And Wish Th' Estate O' Th' World Were Now Undone.

Such Men As He Be Never At Heart's Ease Whiles They Behold A Greater Than Themselves, And Therefore Are They Very Dangerous.

I Am In Blood Stepp'd In So Far, That, Should I Wade No More, Returning Were As Tedious As Go O'er.

A Blind Man Can't Forget The Eyesight He Lost, Show Me Any Beautiful Girl. How Can Her Beauty Not Remind Me Of The One Whose Beauty Surpasses Hers?

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

Besides, They Are Our Outward Consciences, And Preachers To Us All, Admonishing That We Should Drew Us Fairly For Our End.

Thou Art A Soul In Bliss; But I Am Bound Upon A Wheel Of Fire; That Mine Own Tears Do Scald Like Molten Lead.

Ay, Much Is The Force Of Heaven-bred Poesy.

How Many A Holy And Obsequious Tear Hath Dear Religious Love Stolen From Mine Eye, As Interest Of The Dead!

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

You Are Not Worth The Dust Which The Rude Wind Blows In Your Face.

For It Falls Out That What We Have We Prize Not To The Worth Whiles We Enjoy It, But Being Lacked And Lost, Why, Then We Rack The Value, Then We Find The Virtue That Possession Would Not Show Us While It Was Ours.

If Thou Couldst, Doctor, Cast The Water Of My Land, Find Her Disease, And Purge It To A Sound And Pristine Health, I Would Applaud Thee To The Very Echo, That Should Applaud You Again.

And In The Morn And Liquid Dew Of Youth, Contagious Blastments Are Are Most Imminent.

If This Were Played Upon A Stage Now, I Could Condemn It As An Improbable Fiction.

Although The Last, Not Least.

Bear With My Weakness. My Old Brain Is Troubled. Be Not Disturbed With My Infirmity.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounce It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue; But If You Mouth It, As Many Of Your Players Do, I Had As Lief The Town-crier Spoke My Lines.

Well, Heaven Forgive Him! And Forgive Us All! Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall: Some Run From Brakes Of Ice, And Answer None: And Some Condemned For A Fault Alone.

Some Grief Shows Much Of Love, But Much Of Grief Shows Still Some Want Of Wit.

Blind Fear, That Seeing Reason Leads, Finds Safer Footing Than Blind Reason Stumbling Without Fear: To Fear The Worst Oft Cures The Worse.

I Am Now Of All Humors That Have Showed Themselves Humors Since The Old Days Of Goodman Adam To The Pupil Age Of This Present Twelve O'clock At Midnight.

Cold Indeed, And Labor Lost: Then Farewell Heat, And Welcome Frost!

What Soilders Whey-face? The English For So Please You. Take Thy Face Hence.

My Charity Is Outrage, Life My Shame; And In That Shame Still Live My Sorrow's Rage!

Thrift, Thrift, Horatio! The Funeral Bak'd Meats Did Coldly Furnish Forth The Marriage Tables.

Denmark In Hamlet

A Fellow By The Hand Of Nature Mark'd, Quoted, And Sign'd, To Do A Deed Of Shame.

...and Then, In Dreaming, / The Clouds Methought Would Open And Show Riches / Ready To Drop Upon Me, That When I Waked / I Cried To Dream Again.

The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths.

Pray, Do Not Mock Me. I Am A Very Foolish Fond Old Man, Fourscore And Upward, Not An Hour More Nor Less; And, To Deal Plainly, I Fear I Am Not In My Perfect Mind.

This World To Me Is Like A Lasting Storm,whirring Me From My Friends.

There's A Time For All Things.

A Poor Thing, Perhaps, But My Own.

Let Us Sit And Mock The Good Housewife Fortune From Her Wheel, That Her Gifts May Henceforth Be Bestowed Equally, I Would We Could Do So For Her Benefits Are Mightily Misplaced And The Bountiful Blind Girl Doth Most Mistake In Her Gifts To Women. 'tis True For Those That She Makes Fair She Scarce Makes Honest And Those That She Makes Honest She Makes Very Ill-favouredly. Nay, Now Thou Goest From Fortunes Office To Natures. Fortune Reigns In Gifts Of The World, Not In The Lineaments Of Nature.

You Are Made Rather To Wonder At The Things You Hear Than To Work Any.

Adieu! I Have Too Grieved A Heart To Take A Tedious Leave.

This Day's Black Fate On More Days Doth Depend; This But Begins The Woe, Others Must End.

Look, What A Horse Should Have He Did Not Lack, Save A Proud Rider On His Back.

He's A Soldier; And For One To Say A Soldier Lies, Is Stabbing.

I See Men's Judgments Are A Parcel Of Their Fortunes; And Things Outward Do Draw The Inward Quality After Them, To Suffer All Alike.

The Due Of Honor In No Point Omit.

There's Not A Note Of Mine That's Worth The Noting.

If Our Virtues Did Not Go Forth Of Us, It Were All Alike As If We Had Them Not.

What To Ourselves In Passion We Propose, The Passion Ending, Doth The Purpose Lose.

Perseverance, My Dear Lord. Keeps Honour Bright.

Avaunt, You Cullions!

Who Is So Firm That Can't Be Seduced?

For This Relief Much Thanks. 'tis Bitter Cold, And I Am Sick At Heart.

Jesu, Jesu, The Mad Days That I Have Spent! And To See How Many Of My Old Acquaintance Are Dead!

Short Time Seems Long In Sorrow's Sharp Sustaining.

There Is None Of My Uncle's Marks Upon You; He Taught Me How To Know A Man In Love; In Which Cage Of Rushes I Am Sure You Are Not Prisoner.

No Doubt They Rose Up Early To Observe The Rite Of May; And, Hearing Our Intent, Came Here In Grace Of Our Solemnity.

And Either Victory, Or Else A Grave.

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire; Doubt That The Sun Doth Move; Doubt Truth To Be A Liar; But Never Doubt I Love.

Who Would Be So Mocked With Glory, Or To Live But In A Dream Of Friendship, To Have His Pomp And All What State Compounds But Only Painted, Like His Varnished Friends?

While Thou Livest Keep A Good Tongue In Thy Head.

By A Divine Instinct, Men's Minds Mistrust Ensuing Danger; As, By Proof, We See The Waters Swell Before A Boisterous Storm.

Withal I Did Infer Your Lineaments, Being The Right Idea Of Your Father, Both In Your Form And Nobleness Of Mind; Laid Open All Your Victories In Scotland, Your Discipline In War, Wisdom In Peace, Your Bounty, Virtue, Fair Humility; Indeed, Left Nothing Fitting For Your Purpose Untouch'd Or Slightly Handled In Discourse.

Give Me My Sin Again.

You Cram These Words Into Mine Ears Against The Stomach Of My Sense.

One Half Of Me Is Yours, The Other Half Is Yours, Mine Own, I Would Say; But If Mine, Then Yours, And So All Yours.

Fair Is Foul, And Foul Is Fair, Hover Through Fog And Filthy Air.

They Whose Guilt Within Their Bosom Lies, Imagine Every Eye Beholds Their Blame.

Hate Pollutes The Mind.

If Men Could Be Contented To Be What They Are, There Were No Fear In Marriage.

Fight Valiantly To-day; And Yet I Do Thee Wrong To Mind Thee Of It, For Thou Art Framed Of The Firm Truth Of Valor.

I Hate Ingratitude More In A Man Than Lying, Vainness, Babbling, Drunkenness, Or Any Taint Of Vice Whose Strong Corruption Inhabits Our Frail Blood".

Alas, Poor Yorick! I Knew Him, Horatio: A Fellow Of Infinite Jest, Of Most Excellent Fancy: He Hath Borne Me On His Back A Thousand Times; And Now, How Abhorred In My Imagination It Is! My Gorge Rims At It. Here Hung Those Lips That I Have Kissed I Know Not How Oft. Where Be Your Gibes Now? Your Gambols? Your Songs? Your Flashes Of Merriment, That Were Wont To Set The Table On A Roar? Not One Now, To Mock Your Own Grinning? Quite Chap-fallen?

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.

Remembrance Of Things Past.

O Serpent Heart Hid With A Flowering Face! Did Ever A Dragon Keep So Fair A Cave? Beautiful Tyrant, Feind Angelical, Dove Feather Raven, Wolvish-ravening Lamb! Despised Substance Of Devinest Show, Just Opposite To What Thou Justly Seemest - A Dammed Saint, An Honourable Villain!

God Send Everyone Their Heart's Desire!

To Persevere In Obstinate Condolement Is A Course Of Impious Stubbornness: 'tis Unmanly Grief.

Important Hamlet

Having My Freedom, Boast Of Nothing Else.

If It Be True That Good Wine Needs No Bush, 'tis True That A Good Play Needs No Epilogue.

Forget, Forgive; Conclude, And Be Agreed.

I Know A Bank Where The Wild Thyme Blows, Where Oxlips And The Nodding Violet Grows, Quite Over-canopied With Luscious Woodbine, With Sweet Musk-roses And With Eglantine.

Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons." -- (miranda, I:2)

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