O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !
Nice customs curtsy to great kings.
For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
Talkers are no good doers.