My Affection Hath An Unknown Bottom, Like

O, Let Him Pass. He Hates Him That Would Upon The Rack Of This Tough World Stretch Him Out Longer.

The First Thing We Do, Let's Kill All The Lawyers.

But If The While I Think On Thee, Dear Friend, All Losses Are Restored And Sorrows End.

For In The Fatness Of These Pursy Times Virtue Itself Of Vice Must Pardon Beg.

Good Night, Good Night! Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow, That I Shall Say Good Night Till It Be Morrow.