I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.

For there was never yet a philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently.

Tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once.

The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night...

His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.

More of your conversation would infect my brain.

There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.