He draweth the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act i. Sc. 1.
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
Act i. Sc. 1.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Act i. Sc. 1.
I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!