Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.

Some men there are love not a gaping pig, some that are mad if they behold a cat, and others when the bagpipe sings I the nose cannot contain their urine.

Would I were in an alehouse in London.

Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire; that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.

No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.

The attempt and not the deed confounds us.