The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
Summer's lease hath all too short a date.
The time is out of joint.
Virtue and genuine graces in themselves speak what no words can utter.
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.