Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
How poor are they that have have not patients.
If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure.