Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
...and then, in dreaming, / The clouds methought would open and show riches / Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked / I cried to dream again.
Sometimes, less is more.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.
A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*