In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.
Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.
For I can raise no money by vile means. By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas
The course of true love never did run smooth.
The king hath note of all that they intend, by interception which they dream not of.
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.