For what I will, I will, and there an end.
Look how the world's poor people are amazed at apparitions, signs and prodigies!
Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
Sycorax has grown into a hoop
Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. Oh! I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die