Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

Thou unfit for any place but hell.

We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.

In thy youth wast as true a lover, As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow

How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!

Yield not thy neck To fortunes yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.