Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue.
When I was at home I was in a better place
Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
Every great drama has its foreshadow.
Soft pity enters an iron gate.
O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!