Have patience, and endure

He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May.

For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

Every good servant does not all commands.

The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.