In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; . . . . Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.

Hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig.

The old folk, time's doting chronicles.

Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful

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.

They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.