Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.

Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.

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

I will speak daggers to her, but use none.

Away, you mouldy rogue, away!

I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.