The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.
Thou art a Castilian King urinal!
Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania
The jury passing on the prisoner's life may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try.
Beauty within itself should not be wasted.
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; a flower that dies when it begins to bud; a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.