Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.

How poor are they that have have not patients.

Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

The patient must minister to himself