I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
Old Time the clock-setter.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .
Love yourself; and in that love not unconsidered leave your honor.
Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!
I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.