I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.

What else may hap, to time I will commit.

All is well ended if this suit be won. That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day.

Women may fall when there's no strength in men.

Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come

He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.