Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life

He was ever precise in promise-keeping.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.

I am sure care's an enemy to life.

Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries.

God defend the right.

The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.