All his successors gone before him have done 't; and all his ancestors that come after him may.

Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief

O madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked!

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

My stars shine darkly over me

I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.

Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!