One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.

We will draw the curtain and show you the picture.

Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white

Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:

Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive

If you will lead these graces to the grave

And leave the world no copy.

Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.