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

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.

No, 'tis slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath Rides on the posting winds and doth belie All corners of the world; kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the

Music do I hear?Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,When time is broke and no proportion kept!So is it in the music of men's lives.