Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of DenmarkIs by a forged process of my deathRankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,The serpent that did sting thy father's lifeNow wears his crown.

Age cannot wither her nor custom stale Her infinite variety.

I must be cruel only to be kind;Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

Whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin I see hath been his timeless end. Oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. I will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm.Yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.

Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well and yet words are not deeds.

For thy sweet love remembr'd such wealth bringsThat then, I scorn to change my state with kings.