Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.

Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath.

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils, The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted: - Mark the m

Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy
eyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.