O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!

O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this, That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence; the next more easy; For use almost can change the stamp of nature.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.

Send danger from the east unto the west, so honor cross it from the north to south.

This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects, Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.