Let truth with the fingers out, and won't hide blood.
Macbeth. When spooneys on two knees implore the aid of sorcery.
To suit their wicked purposes they quickly put the laws awry,
With Adam I in wife may vie, for none could tell the use of her,
Except to cheapen golden pippins hawk'd about by Lucifer.
Omnes. Round let us bound, for this is Punch's holiday,
Glory to tomfoolery. Huzza! huzza!
Othello. Wife, come to life, forgive what your black lover did,
Spit the feathers from your mouth and munch roast beef;
Iago he may go and be toss'd in the coverlid,