But most it is presumption in us when the help of heaven we count the act of men.

Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

The painful warrior famous for fight, After a thousand victories, once foil'd, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd

Wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty like a Scotch jig--and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.

Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me

Patch up thine old body for heaven.