The last taste of sweets is sweetest last.
Pardon's the word to all.
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable.
My falcon now is sharp and passing empty, and till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, for then she never looks upon her lure.
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity.