Трагедии

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes,
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her?

Tis too much proved—that with devotion's visage
And pious action we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

For this relief, much thanks

A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting;
The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
No more.

While he was drunk asleep, or in his rage, or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed.

and the rest is silence

Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?

O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?
And shall I couple Hell?

Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery
That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence; the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature.