Who Seeks, And Will Not Take, When

Macduff: What Three Things Does Drink Especially Provoke? Porter: Marry, Sir, Nose-painting, Sleep, And Urine.

Yet Mark'd I Where The Bolt Of Cupid Fell: It Fell Upon A Little Western Flower, Before Milk-white, Now Purple With Love's Wound, And Maidens Call It Love-in-idleness.

What, With My Tongue In Your Tail? Nay, Come Again, Good Kate; I Am A Gentleman.

This Fell Sergeant, Death, Is Strict In His Arrest.

Wisely Weigh Our Sorrow With Our Comfort.