Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.
William ShakespeareROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.
William Shakespeare