'Tis brief, my lord...as woman's love.
Wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.
Poor and content, is rich and rich enough; But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.
Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
The undeserver may sleep when the man of action is called on.