He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with light weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.

'By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible true, that thou art beauteous truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal.

He is as full of valor as of kindness. Princely in both.