Set your heart at rest. The fairyland buys not the child of me.

for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

A flock of blessings light upon thy back

What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart

Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?

Grief best is pleased with grief's society.