Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

The Dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands her service; Are they inform'd of this?

Woe to that land that's governed by a child.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Our jovial star reigned at his birth.

I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo to in festival terms.