Tis but a base, ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
Out, damned spot! Out, I say!
Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.
I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.
You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above a common bound.