For I am he am born to tame you, Kate; and bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate conformable as other household Kates.

Dreams are the children of idled minds.

As merry as the day is long.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought

I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book!

Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.

Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!