O that men's ears should be To counsel deaf but not to flattery!

For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.

For I can raise no money by vile means. By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief? O sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.