Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.
The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle that's curded by the frost from purest snow.
Journeys end in lovers meeting.
This above all; to thine own self be true.
Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!