“Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but ay,And that bare vowel ay shall poison moreThan the death-darting eye of cockatrice.I am not I,if there be such an ay,Or those eyes shut,that make thee answer ay:If he be slain say ay,or if not,no:Brief sounds,determine of my weal or woe.”

“Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seatin this distracted globe. Remember thee?”

“Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh,To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.'And yet, I warrant, it had upon its browA bump as big as a young cockerel's stone;A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly:'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face?Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.”

“Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: We cannot fight for love, as men ay do; We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well.”

“To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?”

“The ides of March are come.Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; but not gone.”

“Ay me! sad hours seem long.”