Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
	Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.

Shakespeare.    

	Come one, come all—this rock shall fly
	From its firm base as soon as I.

Scott.    

	Why, I will fight with him upon this theme
	Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Shakespeare.    

	If them deny’st it, twenty times thou liest;
	And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
	Where it was forged, with my rapier’s point.

Shakespeare.    

	I do defy him, and I spit at him;
	Call him—a slanderous coward, and a villain:
	Which to maintain, I would allow him odds;
	And meet him, were I ty’d to run a-foot,
	Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps.

Shakespeare.    

	If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
	Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
	I’ll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime,
	Or I’ll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
	That you shall think the devil has come from hell.

Shakespeare.    

	Who sets me else? by heaven I’ll throw at all;
	I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
	To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Shakespeare.    

	I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
	And with the other fling it at thy face,
	Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

Shakespeare.    

	Though all around is dark and cheerless,
	And on high my star looks pale,
	My heart is steadfast still and fearless,
	Still my lips disdain to wail.
	My spirit still stands up undaunted,
	Still I on myself rely;
	No craven thought my brain e’er haunted,
	Fate and Fortune I defy!

Frazer’s Magazine.