Enough no more; Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.
The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!
The one I love is the son of the one I hate! -Juliet p. 75
There is a river in Macedon, and there is moreover a river in Monmouth. It is called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both.
Full many a glorious morn I have seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.