Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.

There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?

We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.

The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.

Best men oft are moulded out of faults.