Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.

“The ides of March are come.Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; but not gone.”

“My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the king.HAMLET …”

“Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?”

“Look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold!”