By The Pricking Of My Thumbs, Something

Polonius: What Do You Read, My Lord? Hamlet: Words, Words, Words.

Let Us, Like Merchants, Show Our Foulest Wares, And Think Perchance They'll Sell; If Not, The Lustre Of The Better Yet To Show Shall Show The Better.

Your Tale, Sir, Would Cure Deafness.

The Thing Of Courage As Rous'd With Rage Doth Sympathise, And, With An Accent Tun'd In Self-same Key, Retorts To Chiding Fortune.

Having My Freedom, Boast Of Nothing Else.