When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth

For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?

These violent delights have violent ends.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

I am ill at these numbers.