Bounty, being free itself, thinks all others so.

true apothecary thy drugs art quick

But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.

My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate; And with my hand I seal my true heart's love

Like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks.

Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes: Some falls are means the happier to arise