The love of heaven makes one heavenly.

There's many a man hath more hair than wit.

Past and to come, seems best; things present, worse.

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!

whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.

And how his audit stands who knows, save Heaven?