A Plague On Both Your Houses.

Men That Make Envy And Crooked Malice Nourishment, Dare Bite The Best.

Canst Thou, O Partial Sleep, Give Thy Repose To The Wet Sea-boy In An Hour So Rude, And In The Calmest And Most Stillest Night, With All Appliances And Means To Boot, Deny It To A King?

My Affection Hath An Unknown Bottom, Like The Bay Of Portugal.

Even As One Heat Another Heat Expels, Or As One Nail By Strength Drives Out Another, So The Remembrance Of My Former Love Is By A Newer Object Quite Forgotten.

All Fancy-sick She Is And Pale Of Cheer, With Sighs Of Love, That Costs The Fresh Blood Dear.