Be great in act, as you have been in thought.

Sycorax has grown into a hoop

Farewell, my sister, fare thee well. The elements be kind to thee, and make Thy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well.

Leave us to our free election.

Nature's tears are reason's merriment.

Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity?

I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.