Orsino. There's for thy pains. Feste. No pains, sir, I take pleasure in singing, sir. Orsino. I'll pay thy pleasure then. Feste. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.
Quince. He is a very paramour for a sweet voice. Flute. You must say "paragon." A paramour is, God bless us, a thing of naught.
If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.
He gave his honors to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.
Howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones! Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone forever. I know when one is dead and when one lives; She's dead as earth.
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices, That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again.
O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer!
Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire: I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moones sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green. The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours.
Methinks Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles.