By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see the waters swell before a boisterous storm.
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
All is well ended, if the suit be won.
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.
He was not so much brain as earwax