"ONAELIA:You are like common beadles, apt to lash Almost to death poor wretches not worth striking, But fawn with slavish flattery on damned vices So great men act them. You clap hands at those, Where the true poet indeed doth scorn to gild A gaudy tomb with glory of his verse, Which coffins stinking carrion."

"ONAELIA: What sort of poets are there? POET: Two sorts lady: The great poets and the small poets. ONAELIA: Great and small! Which do you call the great? The fat ones?"

"Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? O sweet content! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd? O punishment!"

"We are ne’er like angels till our passion dies."

"Turn over a new leaf."

"ALANZO: Wrongs, like great whirlwinds, Shake highest battlements. Few for heaven would care, Should they be ever happy."

"Do but consider what an excellent thing sleep is: it is so inestimable a jewel that, if a tyrant would give his crown for an hour's slumber, it cannot be bought; of so beautiful a shape is it, that though a man lie with an Empress, his heart cannot beat quite till he leaves her embracements to be at rest with the other; yea, so greatly indebted are we to this kinsman of death, that we owe the better tributary, half of our life to him: and there is good cause why we should do so: for sleep is that golden chain that ties health and our bodies together. Who complains of want? of wounds? of cares? of great men's oppressions? of captivity? whilst he sleepeth? Beggars in their beds take as much pleasure as kings: can we therefore surfeit on this delicate Ambrosia? Can we drink too much of that whereof to taste too little tumbles us into a churchyard, and to use it but indifferently throws us into Bedlam? No, no, look upon Endymion, the moon's minion, who slept three score and fifteen years, and was not a hair the worse for it."

"Honest labour bears a lovely face."

"The best of men That e’er wore earth about him was a sufferer; A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breathed."

"And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds, There ’s a lean fellow beats all conquerors."

"To add to golden numbers golden numbers."

"I was ne’er so thrummed since I was a gentleman."

"This principle is old, but true as fate,— Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate."

"A wise man poor Is like a sacred book that’s never read,— To himself he lives, and to all else seems dead. This age thinks better of a gilded fool Than of a threadbare saint in wisdom’s school."

"KING: I am full of thoughts, A thousand wheels toss my incertain fears, There is a storm in my hot boiling brains, Which rises without wind. A horrid one."

"I hold he loves me best that calls me Tom."

"Seven cities warred for Homer being dead, Who living had no roofe to shrowd his head."

"Pack, clouds, away! and welcome, day! With night we banish sorrow. Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft To give my Love good-morrow! Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow: Bird, prune thy wing! nightingale, sing!"

"Her that ruled the rost in the kitchen."

"With that she dasht her on the lippes, So dyed double red: Hard was the heart that gave the blow, Soft were those lips that bled."

"The worst comes to the worst."

"With this kiss I wed thee once again."

"We thinke no greater blisse then such To be as be we would, When blessed none but such as be The same as be they should."

"The world’s a theatre, the earth a stage Which God and Nature do with actors fill."

"As true as I live."

"A little too wise, they say, do ne’er live long."

"BALTHAZAR: I have a private coat for Italian stilettos, I can be treacherous with the Walloon, drunk with the Dutch, a chimney-sweeper with the Irish, a gentleman with the Welsh and true arrant thief with the English. What then is my country to me?"

"The better day, the better deed."

"Have you summoned your wits from wool-gathering?"

"He who loves the law dies either mad or poor."

"My nearest And dearest enemy."

"This was a good week’s labour."

"The world's a stage on which all parts are played."

"Turn over a new leaf."

"On his last legs."

"How a good meaning May be corrupted by a misconstruction."

"Like pearl Dropt from the opening eyelids of the morn Upon the bashful rose."

"Justice may wink a while, but see at last."

"Let the air strike our tune, Whilst we show reverence to yond peeping moon."

"Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray, Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may."

"All is not gold that glisteneth."

"’T is a stinger."

"There is no hate lost between us."

"As the case stands."

"As old Chaucer was wont to say, that broad famous English poet."

"Ground not upon dreams; you know they are ever contrary."

"From the crown of our head to the sole of our foot."

"That disease Of which all old men sicken,—avarice."

"Beat all your feathers as flat down as pancakes."