Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
His worst fault is, he's given to prayer; he is something peevish that way.
On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.
Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.