A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!

“Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know'st thou art and then…”

“Will you walk out of the air, my lord? HAMLET Into my grave.”

“We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he todayThat sheds his blood wit…”

“How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!Here will we sit and let the soun…”