Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
Though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear.
I rather would entreat thy company; To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardized at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
Thou hast not half that power to do me harm As I have to be hurt.
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off ... Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust.