Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words

And in some perfumes there is more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound.

Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.

Why, who cries out on pride that can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea till the weary very means do ebb?

You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him!

I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely.

Look, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east! Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tip-toe on the misty mountain-tops.