But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live.

What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.

There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.

... And death unloads thee.

The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.

When faced with a sea of troubles, take action, and in so doing end it.

O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.