I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear

There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable.

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.

Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears; what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

Who can be patient in extremes?

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.

Oh, I have passed a miserable night, so full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams!