The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.
Men should be what they seem.
Ready to go but never to return.
If I shall be condemned Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigor and not law.
A grandma's name is little less in love than is the doting title of a mother.