Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people.

All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold.

Such thanks as fits a king's remembrance.

He does it with better grace, but I do it more natural.

All surfeit is the father of much fast.

But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.