The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.

He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.

Discuss unto me: art thou officer, Or art thou base, common, and popular?

All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.