A sad tale's best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins.
Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
For what good turn? Messenger: For the best turn of the bed.
Time does not have the same appeal for every one
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.