All is well ended, if the suit be won.

How long a time lies in one little word?

Pardon, gentles all, the flat unraised spirits that have dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.

The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.

I love thee, and it is my love that speaks

Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.