“Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,— For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble.”

“Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.Harpier cries ’Tis time, ’tis time.Round about the cauldron go;In the poison’d entrails throw.Toad, that under cold stoneDays and nights has thirty-oneSwelter’d venom sleeping got,Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.Double, double toil and trouble;Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.Fillet of a fenny snake,In the cauldron boil and bake;Eye of newt and toe of frog,Wool of bat and tongue of dog,Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing,For a charm of powerful trouble,Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,Witches’ mummy, maw and gulfOf the ravin’d salt-sea shark,Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,Liver of blaspheming Jew,Gall of goat, and slips of yewSilver’d in the moon’s eclipse,Nose of Turk and Tartar’s lips,Finger of birth-strangled babeDitch-deliver’d by a drab,Make the gruel thick and slab:Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,For the ingredients of our cauldron.Double, double toil and trouble;Fire burn and cauldron bubble.By the pricking of my thumbs,Something wicked this way comes.”

“Double, double, toil and trouble;Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!”

“Fezzik's in trouble, bubble bubble,His brain is just not in the pink,His mind is rubble, rub-a-dub double, Because everyone needs him to think.”

“But love, first learnèd in a lady's eyes,Lives not alone immurèd in the brain,But, with the motion of all elements,Courses as swift as thought in every power,And gives to every power a double power,Above their functions and their offices.It adds a precious seeing to the eye;A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind;A lover's ears will hear the lowest sound,When the suspicious head of theft is stopped:Love's feeling is more soft and sensibleThan are the tender horns of cockled snails:Love's tongue proves dainty Baccus gross in taste.For valour, is not love a Hercules,Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musicalAs bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair;And when Love speaks, the voice of all the godsMakes heaven drowsy with the harmony.Never durst poet touch a pen to writeUntil his ink were tempered with Love's sighs.”

“Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word.”

“Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.”