There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

Mine ear is enamoured by thy note; So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape; and thy fair virtues force perforce doth move me; to say, to swear, I love thee

Then the world's mine oyster.

Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my mettle Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamped upon it.

I would that I were low laid in my grave. I am not worth this coil that's made for me.

(Goneril:) I have been worth the whistle. (Albany:) O Goneril, You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.