Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, Now am I fled; My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light; Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die, die.

Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.

The most peerless piece of earth, I think, that e' er the sun shone bright on.

This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam bad left him before he transgressed.

These words are razors to my wounded heart.

By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate; And with my hand I seal my true heart's love