Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!

That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quenched them hath given me fire.

Is it possible that love should of a sudden take such a hold?

On pain of death, no person be so bold.

Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.

Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?

All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.