Old Time the clock-setter.

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.

What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.

If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark

When I waked, I cried to dream again

I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.