The force of his own merit makes his way-a gift that heaven gives for him.
If thou couldst, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud you again.
Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.
For my own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.