If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.

Friendship's full of dregs.

What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish!

We must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.

Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.

This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.

The Dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands her service; Are they inform'd of this?