I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.

If wishes would prevail with me, my purpose should not fail with me.

I must to the barber's, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.

I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you

They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania

So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.