You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor.

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo; O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.

For now they kill me with a living death.

O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide!