Happy thou art not; for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get; and what thou hast, forgettest.

I am a kind of burr; I shall stick.

Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.

She's gone. I am abused, and my relief must be to loathe her.

What e'er thou art, act well thy part.

Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.

Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!