What e'er thou art, act well thy part.

Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

Experience teacheth that resolution is a sole help in need.

It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

And blind oblivion swallowed cities up.

But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.