Opinion crowns with an imperial voice.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.

A good old man, sir. He will be talking. As they say, when the age is in, the wit is out.

When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.

The love of heaven makes one heavenly.

I'll note you in my book of memory.