Thou unfit for any place but hell.

I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.

Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your dispositions to be married" It is an honor that I dream not of

And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And asleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must be heard of, say, I taught thee.

Why, this hath not a finger's dignity.

Beauty's a doubtful good, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour; And beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*