Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk! When that this body did contain a spirit a kingdom for it was to small a bound. But now two paces of the vilest earth are room enough

“The let-alone lies not in your good will.”

“O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!To what, my love, shall I compare thi…”

“Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.”

“Macbeth does murder sleep - the innocent sleep,Sleep that knits up the ravell'd…”