Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.

Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do till you require.

There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distill it out.

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!

We will meet; and there we may rehearse most obscenely and courageously.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

But when I came, alas, to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.