Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him; some that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice.

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.

Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

Let them obey that knows not how to rule.

What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours.

Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.

Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.