I drink to the general joy o’ the whole table." Macbeth
I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.
The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.
Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief.
How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!