Measure for Measure
No, holy father; throw away that thought;
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love
Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee
To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends
Of burning youth. (1.3.1)
Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:
More than our brother is our chastity. (2.4.23)
[...] This night's the time
That I should do what I abhor to name,
Or else thou diest to-morrow.
Thou shalt not do't.
O, were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin. (3.1.11)