And Caesar shall go forth.

Let still woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner to be lost and warn, Than women's are.

The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.

The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately— long love doth so.

We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.

It hurts not the tongue to give fair words.

Cease to lament for that thou canst not help; and study help for that which thou lamentest.