With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.

And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Absence from those we love is self from self - a deadly banishment.

We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.

I always thought it was both impious and unnatural that such immanity and bloody strife should reign among professors of one faith.

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, 1710. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?