This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.

Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.

Examine well your blood.

But when I came, alas, to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.

O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. - Romeo -

I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.

Conscience is a blushing, shamefaced spirit than mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles.