All the world's a stage.
At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.
Gently to hear, kindly to judge.
Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.
Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.