Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.
There's villainous news abroad.
I do desire we may be better strangers.
It is my soul that calls upon my name; How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! -Romeo
There is a world elsewhere.
My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind; So flew'd, so sanded; their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.