Bait the hook well. This fish will bite.

Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.

Done to death by slanderous tongue

Affection is a coal that must be cooled; else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire.

Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat; Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.