One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages.
He hath eaten me out of house and home.
He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
true apothecary thy drugs art quick
The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.