What valor were it, when a cur doth grin, for one to thrust his hand between his teeth, when he might spurn him with his foot away?
I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come" (Phebe)
There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
Perseverance, my dear Lord. Keeps honour bright.
O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!
Tis no sin for a man to labor in his vocation.