O, had I but followed the arts!
O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention!
O, fie, fie, fie! Thy sin’s not accidental, but a trade.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on.
O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!
O sleep, o gentle sleep, nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, that thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down and steep my senses in forgetfulness?
O shame, where is thy blush?
O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!
O God, that one might read the book of fate.
O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies In the small orb of one particular tear!
Now sit we close about this taper here, and call in question our necessities.
Now is the winter of our discontent.