O my offence is rank it smells to heaven It hath the primal eldest curse upon t A brothers murder.

I must become a borrower of the night.

Fortune love you.

A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.

We are advertisd by our loving friends.

Notwithstanding the prevalent notion that the French poets are the sympathetic heirs of classic culture, it appears to me that they are not so imbued with the true classic spirit, art, and mythology as some of our English poets, notably Keats and Shelley.

There's meaning in thy snores.

I say there is no darkness but ignorance.

We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you...I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are making the beast with two backs.