A gentleman that loves to hear himself talk, will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.

Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.

This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.

Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat; Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.

Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.