Mercutio Dreams 
ROMEO 

     Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
     Thou talk'st of nothing.

MERCUTIO 

     True, I talk of dreams,
     Which are the children of an idle brain,
     Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
     Which is as thin of substance as the air
     And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
     Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
     And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
     Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

BENVOLIO 

     This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;
     Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

ROMEO 

     I fear, too early: for my mind misgives
     Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
     Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
     With this night's revels and expire the term
     Of a despised life closed in my breast
     By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
     But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
     Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen.

BENVOLIO 

     Strike, drum.

                        Romeo and Juliet, W. Shakespeare