Death-counterfeiting Sleep.

With Mirth And Laughter Let Old Wrinkles Come. And Let My Liver Rather Heat With Wine, Than My Heart Cool With Mortifying Groans.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In The Most Humorous Sadness.

I Like Not Fair Terms And A Villain's Mind.

I Will Do Anything, Nerissa, Ere I'll Be Married To A Sponge.