Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.

Let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.

Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.

They have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor

Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.