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

Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.

In right and service to their noble country.

All that glitters is not gold; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life has sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold Had you been as wise as bold, Your in limbs, in judgment old, Your answer had not been in'scroll'd Fare you well: your suit is cold.' Cold, indeed, and labour lost: Then, farewell, heat and welcome, frost!

Greatness knows itself.

Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed.

There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.