I give you bitter pills in sugar coating. The pills are harmless: the poison is in the sugar.

Everybody's got their poison, and mine is sugar.

They would like to poison me.

Talk no more of the lucky escape of the head From a flint so unhappily thrown; I think very different from thousands; indeed 'Twas a lucky escape for the stone.

Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead, And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Poison is drunk out of gold. [Lat., Venenum in auro bibitur.]