In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.

And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence

Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.

You speak like a green girl / unsifted in such perilous circumstances.

But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.

I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man.

I'll teach you differences.