We cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo

Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania

When devils will the blackest sins put on They do suggest at first with heavenly shows

These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off ... Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,--This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

To saucy doubts and fears.