A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.

That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

He does it with better grace, but I do it more natural.

God send everyone their heart's desire!

All is well ended if this suit be won. That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day.

I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hacked.