The rain, it raineth every day.
The weakest goes to the wall.
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover.
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
He was not so much brain as earwax