The Play's The Thing.

For In The Fatness Of These Pursy Times Virtue Itself Of Vice Must Pardon Beg.

Look To Her, Moor, If Thou Has Eyes To See. She Has Deceived Her Father, And May Thee.

Life Is As Tedious As Twice-told Tale, Vexing The Dull Ear Of A Drowsy Man.

Each Substance Of A Grief Has Twenty Shadows.

To Say The Truth, So Judas Kissed His Master And Cried, 'all Hail!' When As He Meant All Harm.