Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be!

Flout 'em, And Scout 'em; And Scout 'em, And Flout 'em; / Thought Is Free.

Thou Seest I Have More Flesh Than Another Man, And Therefore More Frailty.

A Plague On Both Your Houses.

I'll Make Death Love Me; For I Will Contend Even With His Pestilent Scythe.

Sweet Beatrice, Wouldst Thou Come When I Called Thee? Beatrice Yea, Signior, And Depart When You Bid Me. Benedick O, Stay But Till Then! Beatrice 'then' Is Spoken; Fare You Well Now... (much Ado About Nothing)