God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.
Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.
There is a time in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.
Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill hardly come out.
You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.