He Kills Her In Her Own Humor.

Can It Be That Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness? Having Waste Ground Enough, Shall We Desire To Raze The Sanctuary And Pitch Our Evils There?

Death Rock Me Asleep.

Thou Whoreson, Senseless Villain!

Demand Me Nothing: What You Know, You Know.

Not All The Water In The Rough Rude Sea Can Wash The Balm From An Anointed King.