O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me, That life, a very rebel to my will, May hang no longer on me: throw my heart Against the flint and hardness of my fault; Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder, And finish all foul thoughts.
There are no more uses of "melancholy" in the play.
Show samples from other sources
Since her dog died she’s been in a melancholy mood.
This weather makes me melancholy. I can’t wait for spring,