Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month.
Like Niobe, all tears.
My father's brother; but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.
Act i. Sc. 2.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Act i. Sc. 2.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.