For 'tis The Sport To Have The

All That Glitters Is Not Gold.

Believe Then, If You Please, That I Can Do Strange Things. [act 5, Scene 2]

No Particular Scandal One Can Touch But It Confounds The Breather.

To Fear The Foe, Since Fear Oppresseth Strength, Gives, In Your Weakness, Strength Unto Your Foe, And So Your Follies Fight Against Yourself. Fear, And Be Slain--so Worse Can Come To Fight; And Fight And Die Is Death Destroying Death, Where Fearing Dying Pays Death Servile Breath.

You See Me Here, You Gods, A Poor Old Man, As Full Of Grief As Age; Wretched In Both.