Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love

There is not one wise man in twenty that will praise himself.

His worst fault is, he's given to prayer; he is something peevish that way.

What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.

Civil dissension is a viperous worm That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.