Maids want nothing but husbands, and when they have them, they want everything.
Like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks.
Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!
If our virtues did not go forth of us, it were all alike as if we had them not.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.