Marcus Andronicus: ‘Suum cuique’ is our Roman justice:
This prince in justice seizeth but his own.
Tamora: Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge:
Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son.
Aaron: No, madam, these are no venereal signs:
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
King Henry: Every subject’s duty is the king’s, but every subject’s soul is his own.
Boy: Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
Friar Lawrence: Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
Falstaff: By the Lord, a buck-basket! rammed me in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy napkins; that, Master Brook, there was the rankest compound of villanous smell that ever offended nostril.
Oberon: How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?
Hamlet: Ay, but sir, 'While the grass grows,' -- the proverb is something musty.
Lysander: The course of true love never did run smooth.