These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears.
This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long
Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.