Our Remedies Oft In Ourselves Do Lie,

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.

I Will Kill Thee A Hundred And Fifty Ways.

I Have Nothing Of Woman In Me; Now From Head To Foot I Am Marble-constant.

When Heaven Doth Weep, Doth Not The Earth O'erflow? If The Winds Rage, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threatening The Welkin With His Big-swollen Face?

Fill All Thy Bones With Aches.