When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel: My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.

But jealous souls will not be answered so, They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they're jealous. 'Tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.

Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.

Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.