What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee

Every good servant does not all commands.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .

When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.

Hang him, swaggering rascal!

Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, Manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man

This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.