Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!
This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit's pedler; and retails his wares.
A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.
Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.
Like madness, is the glory of this life.