Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency?

A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.

Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight.

Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear

Nor age so eat up my invention.

Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority.

When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.