Despair and die. The ghosts

There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.

Every fair from fair sometime declines

What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.

I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger. 'No, and if he were I would burn my library.

It is the cowish terror of his spirit that dares not undertake; he'll not feel wrongs which tie him to an answer.

Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.