Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
The past is prologue.
My master hath been an honorable gentleman; tricks he hath had in him which gentlemen have.
You're in love? Out Out of love? I love someone. She doesn't love me.
Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.