Who is so firm that can't be seduced?

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.

Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.

Who is it can read a woman?

All is well ended if this suit be won. That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day.

Too nice, and yet too true!

To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep No more; and by a sleep, to say we end The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub.