I love thee, I love thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.
Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.
They are but beggars that can count their worth.
A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.
Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. Oh! I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint.
Frailty, thy name is woman!