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.

Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee/ Life would not yield to age.

What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee

Men in rage strike those that wish them best.

Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.

Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill hardly come out.