He That Filches From Me My Good

Conceit In Weakest Bodies Works The Strongest.

What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

Upon His Royal Face There Is No Note How Dread An Army Hath Enrounded Him.

Why, There's A Wench! Come On, And Kiss Me, Kate.

And Oftentimes Excusing Of A Fault Doth Make The Fault The Worse By The Excuse, As Patches Set Upon A Little Breach, Discredit More In Hiding Of The Fault Than Did The Fault Before It Was So Patch'd.