for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

Sometimes, less is more.

No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.

Every good servant does not all commands.

O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?