If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
Desire of having is the sin of covetousness.
Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.
There's beggary in love that can be reckoned
Come, Lady, die to live.
O that men's ears should be To counsel deaf but not to flattery!