And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Ready to go but never to return.

Macbeth to Witches: What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth, And yet are on 't?

I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.

She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared

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.

Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.