Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

Come, Lady, die to live.

Give thy thoughts no tongue, nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar.

There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered.

This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.

O, full of scorpions is my mind!

Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.