What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.
Look, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east! Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tip-toe on the misty mountain-tops.
Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.
You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear.