Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.
My wits begin to turn.
If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage.
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!
The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.
A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting; The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.