By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.

Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.

Oh, I am fortune's fool!

Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.

Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.

the fire seven times tried this; seven times tried that judgement is that did never choose amiss some there be that shadows kiss; such have but a shadows bliss, there be fool alive, i wis silverd o'er, and so was this Take what wife you will to bed I will ever be your head. So be gone; you are sped.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.