This liberty is all that I request.

I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.

Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.

With these shreds They vented their complainings, which being answered And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, Shouting their emulation.

When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

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

Ready to go but never to return.