For what advancement may I hope from thee, / That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits / To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter’d?

Horatio, thou art e’en as just a man / As e’er my conversation cop’d withal.

No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.

Then there’s hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year. But by’r lady, he must build churches then;

What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within's two hours.

Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing, / Confederate season, else no creature seeing; / Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, / With Hecate’s ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, / Thy natural magic and dire property / On wholesome life usurp immediately.

No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' th' world.

As woman's love.

A second time I kill my husband dead, / When second husband kisses me in bed.

The cease of majesty / Dies not alone; but like a gulf doth draw / What’s near it with it.