I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.
Foul whisperings are abroad
I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty
How poor are they that have have not patients.
Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.