Through the forest have I gone. But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring love. Night and silence.--Who is here? Weeds of Athens he doth wear: This is he, my master said, Despised the Athenian maid; And here the maiden, sleeping sound, On the dank and dirty ground. Pretty soul! she durst not lie Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. Churl, upon thy eyes I throw All the power this charm doth owe. When thou wakest, let love forbid Sleep his seat on thy eyelid: So awake when I am gone; For I must now to Oberon.

I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe. What is decreed must be; and be this so.

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.

Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.

Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend, But to procrastinate his liveless end.

Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

You speak an infinite deal of nothing.