There is a nick in Fortune's restless wheel For each man's good.
Archers ever Have two strings to bow; and shall great Cupid (Archer of archers both in men and women), Be worse provided than a common archer?
I pray, what flowers are these? The pansy this, O, that's for lover's thoughts.
Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies. The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes.
Pure innovation is more gross than error.
Fair words never hurt the tongue.