A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven
A very scurvy fellow.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Conscience is a thousand swords.
Conscience is a blushing, shamefaced spirit than mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles.