Though she be but little, she is fierce!

I despised my arrival on this earth and I despise my departure; it is a tragedy.

Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.

Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.

Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.

The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.

The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.