Mercutio: "If love be rough with you, be rough with love.
Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do till you require.
How now, wit! Whither wander you?
Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.
But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.