No, Time, Thou Shalt Not Boast That

Let Me Be Boiled To Death With Melancholy.

For Never Was A Story Of More Woe Than This Of Juliet And Her Romeo.

I Would That I Were Low Laid In My Grave. I Am Not Worth This Coil That's Made For Me.

Thou Dost Conspire Against Thy Friend, Iago, If Thou But Think'st Him Wronged, And Mak'st His Ear A Stranger To Thy Thoughts.

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.