Ромео и Джульетта

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears.

There is method in my madness.

He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in
Reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving
how express and admirable! In action how like an Angel!
in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the
world! the paragon of animals! and yet to me, what is
this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no,
nor Woman neither; though by your smiling you seeme
to say so

If your mind dislike anything obey it

he barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burnt on the water.

As merry as the day is long.

For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.

Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.