Bokelskere.no

A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears:- why she, even she-
O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer..

So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month-
Let me not think on't-Frailty, thy name is woman!

What art thou that usurp’st this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march?

I will speak daggers to her, but use none.

You would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, yet you cannot play upon me.

The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.

The instance that second marriage move are base respects of thrift, but none of love:
A second time I kill my husband dead, when second husband kisses me in bed.

O, confound the rest! Such love must be treason in my breast: In second husband
let me be accurst! None wed the second but who kill'd the first.

Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief.

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