You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him!
O, spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.
Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot.