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.