Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?

How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?

Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.

For 'tis the sport to have the engineerHoist with his own petard.

Tis the mind that makes the body rich.

What need the bridge much broader than the flood?

These times of woe afford no time to woo.