The Villany You Teach Me I Shall

My Hounds Are Bred Out Of The Spartan Kind; So Flew'd, So Sanded; Their Heads Are Hung With Ears That Sweep Away The Morning Dew.

Indeed, Sir, He That Sleeps Feels Not The Toothache; But A Man That Were To Sleep Your Sleep, And A Hangman To Help Him To Bed, I Think He Would Change Places With His Officer; For Look You, Sir, You Know Not Which Way You Shall Go.

I Cannot Tell What The Dickens His Name Is.

The World Is Not Thy Friend, Nor The World's Law. - Romeo

Oh! It Offends Me To The Soul To Hear A Robust Periwig-pated Fellow, Tear A Passion To Tatters, To Very Rags, To Split The Ears Of The Groundlings.