A Plague On Both Your Houses.

Oh, Flatter Me; For Love Delights In Praises.

Best Men Oft Are Moulded Out Of Faults.

We Must Not Make A Scarecrow Of The Law, Setting It Up To Fear The Birds Of Prey, And Let It Keep One Shape Till Custom Make It Their Perch, And Not Their Terror.

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?

Twas A Clever Quibble. Here, A Garment For It.