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O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? — William Shakespeare · 1597You tread upon my patience. — William Shakespeare · 1597They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. — William Shakespeare · 1597Commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? — William Shakespeare · 1597Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. — William Shakespeare · 1597