Bokelskere.no

Thou art a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver’d, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mungril bitch.

The art of our necessities is strange,

And can make vile things precious.

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile:

Filths savour but themselves.

When we are born, we cry that we are come

To this great stage of fools.

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

He that has and a little tiny wit,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
Must make content with his fortunes fit,
Though the rain it raineth every day.

talt av narren - akt III, scene ii.