You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live
O King, believe not this hard-hearted man!
Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind puppies.
We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.
My love is as a fever, longing still.
The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.