You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty!

Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.

Before, I loved thee as a brother, John, But now, I do respect thee as my soul.

My love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was

Courage mounteth with occasion.

Foul whisperings are abroad

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.