Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.

Friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.

My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind; So flew'd, so sanded; their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.

He that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache

Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; not the soldier's which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.