Fire That's Closest Kept Burns Most Of

Thrift, Thrift, Horatio! The Funeral Bak'd Meats Did Coldly Furnish Forth The Marriage Tables.

I Would Fain Die A Dry Death.

You Have Her Father's Love, Demetrius; Let Me Have Hermia's: Do You Marry Him!

Hath Romeo Slain Himself? Say Thou But Ay, And That Bare Vowel Ay Shall Poison More Than The Death-darting Eye Of Cockatrice. I Am Not I,if There Be Such An Ay, Or Those Eyes Shut,that Make Thee Answer Ay: If He Be Slain Say Ay,or If Not,no: Brief Sounds,determine Of My Weal Or Woe.

Never Durst Poet Touch A Pen To Write Until His Ink Were Temper'd With Love's Sighs.