Dress’d in a little brief authority,— Most ignorant of what he’s most assured, His glassy essence,—like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal.
There are no more uses of "essence" in the play.
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To make things better, to enjoy each other’s company, and to empathize are essence of humanity.
There was only—spring itself; the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere...