O no, thy love though much, is not so great, It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake. For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near.

Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.

A hit, a very palpable hit.

Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know'st thou art and then thou art as great as that thou fear'st.

My love admits no qualifying dross

I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.

I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.