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

I love thee; none but thee, and thou deservest it

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!

Is this government of Britain's Isle, and this the royalty of Albion's King?

Justice always whirls in equal measure.

All the world's a stage.

Nothing 'gainst Times scythe can make defence.