If thou art rich, thou art poor; for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.

You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.

It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.

The king's name is a tower of strength.

The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.

I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.

The purest treasure mortal times can afford is a spotless reputation.