Though Patience Be A Tired Mare, Yet

Cleopatra: If It Be Love Indeed, Tell Me How Much. Antony: There's Beggary In The Love That Can Be Reckoned. Cleopatra: I'll Set A Bourne How Far To Be Belov'd. Antony: Then Must Thou Needs Find Out New Heaven, New Earth.

Gloucester: Yet So Much Is My Poverty Of Spirit, So Mighty And So Many My Defects, As I Had Rather Hide Me From My Greatness, Being A Bark To Brook No Mighty Sea, Than In My Greatness Covet To Be Hid, And In The Vapour Of My Glory Smother'd. But God Be Thanked. . . .

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs.

There Is No Such Sport As Sport By Sport O'erthrown.

If Money Go Before, All Ways Do Lie Open.