You stars that reigned at my nativity, whose influence hath allotted death and hell.

I am Envy...I cannot read and therefore wish all books burned.

Confess and be hanged.

Strike up the drum and march courageously.

Why should you love him whom the world hates so? Because he love me more than all the world.

Nothing violent, oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.

Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.