Murder most foul, as in the best it it; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.

Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.

They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.

Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger

Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more.

I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.