The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
Grace and remembrance be to you both.
The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, is often left unloved.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.
What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?