Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.
Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness.
Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!
Oh, flatter me; for love delights in praises.
Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.
Stars hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see