I am not mad; I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself; O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
Gold--what can it not do, and undo?
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy
Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.
A man I am cross'd with adversity.
God defend the right.