Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

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

This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.

Though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy.

Fairies use flowers for their charactery.

Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none!.

Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much— She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad And live upon the vapor of a dungeon Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.