O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.

A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember.

Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum! Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, revel the night, rob, murder, and commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways?

Mind your speech a little lest you should mar your fortunes.

The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.