Love, which teacheth me that thou and I am one

My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

I'll look to like; if looking, liking move.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Come not within the measure of my wrath.

He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.

O England! Model to thy inward greatness, like little body with a might heart.