The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
O, Thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint.
What a deformed thief this fashion is.
Mind your speech a little lest you should mar your fortunes.
Death rock me asleep.