Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.
Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Cease to lament for that thou canst not help; and study help for that which thou lamentest.
Come, swear it, damn thyself, lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves should fear to seize thee; therefore be double-damned, swear,--thou art honest.
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless; lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!