Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Thoughts are but dreams till their effects are tried.
We will draw the curtain and show you the picture.
The old folk, time's doting chronicles.
And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought