I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.

A man should be what he seems.

Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me.

Falsehood falsehood cures

The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue!

And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.