Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.

And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do

He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.

For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.

God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight