If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
Maids want nothing but husbands, and when they have them, they want everything.
I would fain die a dry death.
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
You had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground.
Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.