The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.

With this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature.

Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.

Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. Oh! I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint.

Give it an understanding, but no tongue.

The patient must minister to himself

But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.