... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.

With these shreds They vented their complainings, which being answered And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, Shouting their emulation.

O, call back yesterday, bid time return

The due of honor in no point omit.

When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.

Highly fed and lowly taught.

Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.