The jury passing on the prisoner's life may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?

I am that merry wanderer of the night.

O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world.

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth

My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done.

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