There Is No Creature Loves Me; And

Thou Art A Slave, Whom Fortune's Tender Arm With Favour Never Clasp'd; But Bred A Dog.

And Nature Must Obey Necessity.

Macbeth To Witches: What Are These So Wither'd And So Wild In Their Attire, That Look Not Like Th' Inhabitants O' Th' Earth, And Yet Are On 't?

Most Friendship Is Feigning, Most Loving Mere Folly.

Let Never Day Nor Night Unhallowed Pass, But Still Remember What The Lord Hath Done.