Patch up thine old body for heaven.
The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.
I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
Sin will pluck on sin.
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And asleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must be heard of, say, I taught thee.