The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; but not gone.
You, and your lady, Take from my heart all thankfulness!
Small to greater matters must give way.
I have lov'd her ever since I saw her; and still I see her beautiful
And to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.
Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.