The prize of all too precious you.

Give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.

Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.

Love's best habit is a soothing tongue

O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having. . . .

The leopard does not change his spots.

Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none!.