You Speak An Infinite Deal Of Nothing.

I Can Counterfeit The Deep Tragedian; Speak And Look Back, And Pry On Every Side, Tremble And Start, At Wagging Of A Straw, Intending Deep Suspicion.

Let Me, If Not By Birth, Have Lands By Wit; All With Me's Meet That I Can Fashion Fit.

The Attempt And Not The Deed Confounds Us.

I Durst Not Laugh For Fear Of Opening My Lips And Receiving The Bad Air.

He's All My Exercise, My Mirth, My Matter.