Time and the hour run through the roughest day.

Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.

When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.

O horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee!

God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world: Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me?

Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal do warrant The tenor of my book.