Speak on, but be not over-tedious.

Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.

Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries.

For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

See where she comes apparelled like the spring.

I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip

What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish!