O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple.

The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.

Hang him, swaggering rascal!

ROMEO to BALTHASAR But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am nor what I do.

Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in's own house.

Let us kill all lawyers