DEMETRIUS Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. LYSANDER You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

Too much to know is to know naught but fame.

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.

To be generous, guiltless, and of a free disposition is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets.

What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours.

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.

Every fair from fair sometime declines