How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
You had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground.
I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; so full of valor that they smote the air, for breathing in their faces, beat the ground for kissing of their feet.
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.
O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.