See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!

You are a tedious fool.

We see which way the stream of time doth run.

I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an old man and no honester than I.

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.

Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men.