There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more: Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
Desperate times breed desperate measures
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
Every true man's apparel fits your thief.
He kills her in her own humor.