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More from William Shakespeare

To-morrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
All in the morning betime.

Thou hast nor youth nor age, but, as it were, an after-diner’s sleep, dreaming on both.

You shall more command with years that with your weapons.

Act I, sc. 2.

What is honour? A word. What is that word, honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o’ Wednesday.

Beatrice: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.