“And will 'a not come again? And will 'a not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy death bed: He will never come again.”

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts...There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you, and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a good end,— [Sings.]“For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.Thought and afflictions, passion, hell itself, She turns to favor and to prettiness. Song. And will a not come again? And will a not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy deathbed; He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, Flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan. God ’a’ mercy on his soul.”

“Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.”

“And when I love thee not, chaos is come again.”

“What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again,Good Kate; I am a gentleman.”

“When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again?”

“Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.”