Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

A knot you are of damned bloodsuckers.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.

I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

O horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee!

I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist.

Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?