I had rather live
With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,
Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
In any summerhouse in Christendom.

“Much ado about nothing.”

“So dear I love him that with him, All deaths I could endure. Without him, live …”

“What if this cursed hand were thicker than itself with brother's blood, is ther…”

“The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to Earth, fro…”