The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.

Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your dispositions to be married" It is an honor that I dream not of

So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly; it strikes where it doth love.

Commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways.

Waste not thy time in windy argument but let the matter drop.

For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

So curses all Eve's daughters of what complexion soever.