Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.
A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.
Who is so firm that can't be seduced?
Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.
The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.
He is white-livered and red-faced.