Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
Beatrice: You always end with a jade’s trick. I know you of old.
Benedick: I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage: but doth not the appetite alter? a man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.
Prospero: What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea.
That’s certain. I for my part knew the tailor
That made the wings she flew withal.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
Lowliness is young ambition’s ladder,
whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend.
Welcome ever smiles,
And farewell goes out sighing.
Benedick: I would my horse had the speed of your tongue.
Benedick: for I will be horribly in love with her.
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness and the bettering of my mind
There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
Try what my credit can in Venice do
To furnish you to Belmont, and fair Portia.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
The course of true love never did run smooth
And Caesar’s spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch’s voice,
Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war,
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.
The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee!
Benedick: The world must be peopled!
BENEDICK: Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?
CLAUDIO: Can the world buy such a jewel?
BENEDICK: Yea, and a case to put it into.
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie
Bassanio: Promise me life, and I’ll confess the truth.
Portia: Confess and live-
Bassanio: -Confess and love.
The quality of mercy is not strained.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.