CLOWN. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness: thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.

It harrows me with fear and wonder.

A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.

Woe is forerun with woe.

Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.

Demand me nothing: what you know, you know.

In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, For thou art all, and all things else are thine.