No, 't Is 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.

No, 't Is 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.

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No, 't is 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.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline
-- Act iii, Sc. 4

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Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him
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Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with.
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Whose words all ears took captive. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), All 's Well that Ends Well -- Act v, Sc.
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It is no act of common passage, but A strain of rareness.
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Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.
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A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
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Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline -- Act iii, Sc.
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The game is up. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Cymbeline -- Act iii, Sc. 3