Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.

Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough.

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.

In time we hate that which we often fear.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.

There is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valor.