Set Your Heart At Rest.

Poor Wretches That Depend On Greatness' Favor, Dream As I Have Done; Wake, And Find Nothing.

Thou Unfit For Any Place But Hell.

Proper Deformity Shows Not In The Fiend So Horrid As In Woman.

Let No Such Man Be Trusted.

Macbeth To Witches: What Are These So Wither'd And So Wild In Their Attire, That Look Not Like Th' Inhabitants O' Th' Earth, And Yet Are On 't?