When rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will
On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily.
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.
Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.
What a deformed thief this fashion is.
There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.