For it falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us While it was ours.

This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest.

My soul is in the sky.

Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn

Men at some time are masters of their fates.

As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.

A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.