A Countenance More In Sorrow Than In

Beshrew That Heart That Makes My Heart To Groan For That Deep Wound It Gives My Friend And Me; Is't Not Enough To Torture Me Alone, But Slave To Slavery My Sweet'st Friend Must Be?

Swear Me, Kate, Like A Lady As Thou Art, A Good Mouth-filling Oath.

Here, Thou Incestuous, Murderous, Damned Dane, Drink Off This Potion!

You Are Made Rather To Wonder At The Things You Hear Than To Work Any.

We Bring Forth Weeds When Our Quick Minds Lie Still.