King Henry: But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, And what a pitch she flew above the rest! To see how God in all his creatures works! Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. Suffolk: No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protectors hawks do tower so well; They know their masters loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. Gloucester: My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

Things are often spoke and seldom meant.

Let's go hand in hand, not one before another.

Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?

Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!

This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.

And teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night.