How now, my live? Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, war, death or sickness did lay siege to it, making it momentary as a sound, swift as a shadow, short as any dream, brief as the lightning in the collied night; that, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and Earth, and ere a man hath power to say "Behold!" the jaws of darkness do devour it up. So quick bright things come to confusion.

(waking) And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake. Transparent Helena! Nature shows art that through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius? Oh, how fit a word is that vile name to perish on my sword!