Duly twice a morning Would I be sprinkling it with fountain-water. At last it grew, and grew, and bore, and bore, Till at the length It grew a gallows, and did bear our son, It bore thy fruit and mine: O wicked, wicked plant.

My son - and what's a son? A thing begot Within a pair of minutes, thereabout: A lump bred up in darkness.

As I am never better than when I am mad; then methinks I am a brave fellow; then I do wonders: but reason abuseth me, and there's the torment, there's the hell.

For what's a play without a woman in it?

My mother is a fish.

In church your grandsire cut his throat; to do the job too long he tarried: he should have had my hearty vote to cut his throat before he married.

Always remember the last words of my grandfather, who said: 'A truck!'