O powerful love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast.

No doubt they rose up early to observe the rite of May; and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Art made tongue-tied by authority.

Let the end try the man.

When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.

Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.