I am falser than vows made in wine.

Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!

Angels and ministers of grace defend us.

In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.

Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.

What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman.