Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.
Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.
For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.