In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good.
Say as you think and speak it from your souls.
God help the noble Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere a' be cured.
The near in blood, the nearer bloody.
If we shadows have offended, Think but this,—and all is mended,— That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend; If you pardon, we will mend.
In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd; And I lov'd her that she did pity them.