He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.

Blood will have blood.

Demand me nothing: what you know, you know.

This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit's pedler; and retails his wares.

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

They that touch pitch will be defiled.

Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.