When Words Are Scarce They Are Seldom

Wisdom And Goodness To The Vile Seem Vile; Filths Savour But Themselves.

What, My Dear Lady Disdain! Are You Yet Living? Beatrice: Is It Possible Disdain Should Die While She Hath Such Meet Food To Feed It As Signior Benedick?

If Wishes Would Prevail With Me, My Purpose Should Not Fail With Me.

Let's Teach Ourselves That Honorable Stop, Not To Outsport Discretion.

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