Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, meeting the check of such another day.

O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!

This is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship without security.

Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much— She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad And live upon the vapor of a dungeon Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.

Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them