Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.

Fight valiantly to-day; and yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, for thou art framed of the firm truth of valor.

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.

Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.

Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.

Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.