And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness!
Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?
To sleep perchance to dream
Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.
But love is blind and lovers cannot see