I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.

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?

A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.

Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.

Full of wise saws and modern instances.

I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.

Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?