When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
You may my Glories and my State depose, But not my Griefes; still am I King of those.
Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession.
Every why hath a wherefore.
A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!
A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.