O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
The cunning livery of hell.
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?
She dreams of him that has forgot her love; You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary; And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!