You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

Cowards die many times; a brave man dies but once.

Out of this nettle - danger - we pluck this flower - safety.

And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do

I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

I love thee, I love thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.

Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.