O true apothecary,
Thy drugs are quick.

I’ll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh

I knew him, Horatio: a fellow. of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath. borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how.

Turn hell-hound, turn.

All's well.
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:
To you they have show'd some truth.

Of Sycorax—toads, beetles, bats—light on you,
For I am all the subjects that you have,
Which was first mine own king. And here you sty me
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
The rest o’ the island