Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.

Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.

I hold my peace, sir? no; No, I will speak as liberal as the north; Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

While we lie tumbling in the hay.

Blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.