What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts.
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.
For you and I are past our dancing days.
I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed!