Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.

I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

He that dies this year is quit for the next.

We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.

This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.

We were not born to sue, but to command.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.