You Have Witchcraft In Your Lips

All The Contagion Of The South Light On You, You Shames Of Rome! You Herd Of--boils And Plagues Plaster You O'er; That You May Be Abhorr'd Further Than Seen, And One Infect Another Against The Wind A Mile!

Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons." -- (miranda, I:2)

And, If You Love Me, As I Think You Do, Let's Kiss And Part, For We Have Much To Do

O, How Wretched Is That Poor Man That Hangs On Princes' Favors.

O, I Have Suffered With Those That I Saw Suffer! A Brave Vessel (who Had No Doubt Some Noble Creature In Her) Dashed All To Pieces! O, The Cry Did Knock Against My Very Heart! Poor Souls, They Perished!