Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

Woe to that land that's governed by a child.

After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.

Speak on, but be not over-tedious.

But she makes hungry Where she most satisfies.

Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.

The trust I have is in mine innocence, and therefore am I bold and resolute.