Full fathom five thy father lies
Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.
My love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was
The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.
The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart-see, they bark at me.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks.